


Glimpses of Where We Used to Be

by Eissel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Economics, Edward Elric Keeps Alchemy, Edward Elric Swears, F/M, Gen, Grave digging, Hospitalization, I know it seems Ed-centric at first but I swear it does alternate, Likely Medically Inaccurate, Maes Hughes Lives, Minor Character Death, Most of the ensamble cast shows up at some point in this fic, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Politics, Post-Canon, The hospitalization doesn't last long in the fic I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissel/pseuds/Eissel
Summary: Just as Amestris changes from the Promised Day, so do Ed, Al and Winry change; from 1915 to 1920, they recover, grow-up, and support each other through the best and worst of times.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Team Mustang, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Maes Hughes & Edward Elric & Alphonse Elric, Mei Chan | May Chang/Alphonse Elric, Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang & Maes Hughes & Winry Rockbell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54
Collections: FMA Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue, 1920

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining me in my first Big Bang! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you'll get just as much enjoyment from reading! Shoutouts to my lovely friends who endured both me rambling to them about plot and character interactions, and for editing this! Another shoutout to my amazing artist, Cazz, you can find them at either their Twitter or Tumblr @cazzarts! Their art is absolutely amazing, and I hope you guys enjoy it just as much as I have!

“I still can’t believe that it’s been 5 whole years.” Ed blew some of his hair out of his face as they relaxed on the roof. “It’s just… insane how much has happened since then.”

“I know what you mean Brother.” Al turned himself, wincing a little as the rougher parts of the wooden roof dug into his skin. “It almost feels like it was just yesterday that we got our bodies back.”

“Yeah. It almost feels dreamlike…” His eyes briefly fluttered closed before opening again. “Like if I close my eyes, suddenly I’ll be back in the middle of the fight, mid-punching out Father.”

“I felt like that a lot in the beginning. It didn’t help that you were always so worried, when you didn’t need to be. I was worried too… Then I found out how you had gotten your alchemy back.” Al threw a glare at his older brother. “You’re an idiot Brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, as you and everyone else keeps telling me. But me being an idiot or not doesn’t give you an excuse to _lie_ ; I was not **that** worried.”

“You were.” Al quipped. “You were _really_ scared because _you_ thought that Truth would renege on its deal, even though it’s never done that before. But even that doesn’t top the time when you had to draft your speech to propose to Winry! How many letters did you send me again? I think you easily tripled the amount you had sent me over the past _year_ in that 2 week span.”

“I was _not_ that bad!” Ed squawked, immediately sitting up and throwing a glare at the younger blond.

“I’m sure that the letters will validate my claims. If you want, we can go and look through them.”

“Fine then, you’re on!” Ed hastily got to his feet, and after a few seconds to regain his balance, he easily jumped down from the roof. “You coming Al?”

“I didn’t _really_ mean for you to take it as a competition Brother...” Al grumbled, but got down from the roof anyways, though in a much more careful manner than Ed had. The two brothers entered the house, Ed kicking the door down to Al’s disapproving mutters. 

“Where’d we put those old things anyways?”

“You mean, where did _you_ put them.” Ed rolled his eyes at Al’s sass, but didn’t rise to the bait; years of having the Amestrian military in general and Mustang and Armstrong in particular, provoking him on the daily showing their effects.

After a good hour of searching, they found the old letters in the attic.

“We should’ve started here, we are _such_ idiots.” Ed muttered, giving the box an experimental tug to see how much force would be needed to drag it out. “And this isn’t getting out without a good amount of force behind the pull.”

“I’m sure Ling and Lan Fan would be happy to train you back up to standard. Or I could give Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong a call.”

“Don’t.”

“I’ll ask Winry when she and May get back, and we’ll see what she says Brother.” Al chirped sweetly, to which Ed huffed, and squatted down. Getting his hands around the huge box was already proving a challenge, but as soon as he felt his hands meet, he hauled the box back, then dropped it. 

He dropped as well from the force exerted, and noticed that Al had quickly backed away, probably due to the dust he had kicked up while moving the box. Waving a hand in front of his face, he waved it away. 

“Al, I’ll get this open, you can just take it easy downstairs.” He didn’t hear a reply, the younger blond probably already having run off. Spying a pair of scissors lying atop of another set of boxes, Ed snatched them up, but wasn’t surprised that they were already in pretty bad condition. Well, nothing some alchemy couldn’t fix. Clapping his hands together, and pressing them to the scissors, he transmuted the rust off them, breaking the bond between the oxygen and the metal. 

He couldn’t fix the handle, but he only _really_ needed one blade anyways. Picking up the scissors, Ed snapped the blades in half, taking one blade and letting the other clatter to the floor. Slicing the huge box open, Ed started rifling through the contents.

“Oh, one of my old travelogues.” Flipping through it, he noticed that it was the one he had been filling out for most of the year of 1915. “Oh, this is the one where...” A feeling of discomfort washed over him, and he flipped past those sections in particular, stopping once he reached a certain picture that had been pasted in. 

A smile spread across his face, and he decided to take the old journal with him to show to Al.

“Hey Al, guess what I found?” He asked, showing off the journal as he walked down the stairs.

“One of your old journals Brother?”

“Yes, but not just _any_ old journal.” He set the journal down on the table, flipped open to where the photo was pasted in. Clapping his hands, he deconstructed the old adhesive, and removed the photo.

“Oh, isn’t that _—_ ”

“The photo we took when you got released from the ICU? Yeah.” Ed grabbed a pin from the bucket Winry always kept nearest the cork board, and pinned the old photo to it. “It fits right in!”

“I had completely forgotten about that photo actually.” Al said, picking up the journal to flip through it. “There’s a lot of stuff in here…”

“Well, it _was_ 1915 Al, it was a pretty busy year.”

“It still feels surreal. I mean, think about it, when you first started your travelogues, you could fill one with the events of, about 3 years. I’m pretty sure most of 1915 isn’t even _in_ this single journal.”

“I mean, you could probably say that about most of the years after 1915.” Ed paused as the words left his mouth. “...You’re right Al, a lot of stuff _has_ happened since then.” His eyes traveled back to the photo on the board.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple photo of Al in a wheelchair as Ed leaned forwards behind him, both of them grinning for the camera. 

Somehow though, it felt so much more than that. That picture was the accumulation of all they had worked for. The two of them, their bodies back, healthy and safe. Tearing his eyes away from the photo back to Al, who was continuing to flip through the journal, Ed had to stop himself from smiling.

They’d changed so much in just 5 years.


	2. The Promised Day (Spring Equinox) – March 23rd, 1915

_ The Promised Day (Spring Equinox), 1915 _

* * *

As soon as the fighting was over, Ed collapsed. 

_ This must be the crash.  _ The thought briefly flickered in his mind as he braced himself against the ground. 

“That fight sure did a number on you.” He heard someone say above him.

“Yeah.” Ed replied monosyllabically. He didn’t have the strength to muster up a more coherent response. The person ‘tch’d’ and helped him up on his feet. “Thanks.” He heard himself say distantly. 

“Okay, looks like the adrenaline really took a toll on you.”

“Noradrenaline mostly, not adrenaline.” He corrected automatically. The person seemed to not know what to say to that, shutting up for a minute. 

“Well shit, you learn something new every day. You alchemy types really are something.” They laughed a little, which jostled Ed, and made him hold back a hiss. 

He was a shit actor even when lucid though, so he wasn’t all that surprised when whoever it was stopped in their tracks. 

“Sorry about that.” They apologized, walking slower now, and taking more care to not jostle him in any way. 

“I can handle a little pain.”

“Sure, you  _ can  _ but do you really have to?” Ed didn’t have a snarky reply to that. “Just rest up a bit, I’ll get you to a hospital soon enough.”

“Al.” Ed said insistently. “Get Al there first. He’s worse off. A  _ lot  _ worse off.”

“Someone else is already on it. Don’t worry too much.” Ed tried to make another protest, but his mouth felt like cotton, and his  **everything** was protesting any sort of movement, and really the position he was in was more or less safe so it was safe to doze off a little right? He’d see Al soon, and it wasn’t like the universe was about to cook up  _ another  _ God-groupie to send his way and kick his teeth in anytime soon. “You should rest now, seriously. When we get to the hospital, they’re probably going to give you the  _ good  _ drugs, and you don’t want to be conscious for that. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

“Mhm.” His coherence was already down to grunts,  _ Truth  _ he hoped no one else saw him in this state, they’d tease him into oblivion once they were done busting a gut from laughing so hard. The great Fullmetal Alchemist, savior of Amestris (and probably the whole world if he was being honest), reduced to a half-asleep wreck on some person’s back. 

Fucking hi-larious. With the last dregs of strength left in his body, Ed managed to muster up a final sentence before he passed out: “Al and I need to be in the same room, tell the doc that.” That said, his mind blanked out before he could hear a reply. He _ swore  _ he felt someone pick him up though, which was stranger than everything that had just happened within that… 3-minute conversation.

* * *

_ March 22nd, 1915 _

* * *

Ed stared up at the blank white ceiling, bored out of his mind. Al had been confined in the ICU, while he’d been shoved into a regular room and told to wait for a doctor to be available. He wasn’t  _ angry  _ about it per se, just annoyed that he wasn’t with Al, and that it seemed like the entire city had been shoved into the hospital for injuries of  _ some  _ kind. 

“Mr. Elric?” A voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Ed blinks slowly at them before his brain realizes that  _ oh, that’s the doctor you dipshit _ . An embarrassed hand rubs at the back of his neck as he shoots the tall man a grin. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Guessin’ you have Al stabilized and all that?” He forced his voice to not waver, even as he searched the doctor’s warm brown eyes for a  _ hint  _ of concern or worry. The man gives him a smile back as he glances down at the clipboard in his hands.

“We currently have him on fentanyl via injection every 12 hours. That will keep the likely pain from shocking his system too badly. We want to get him started on nutrient and vitamin supplements soon, but we’re going to be working around that low pain tolerance and high sensitivity for a long time yet.” 

“Is there a…  _ different  _ pain killer you could get him on?” Ed asked, “On my mother’s side of the family, there’s a history of addiction to strong painkillers.” That was a bold-faced  _ lie,  _ but the doctor didn’t need to know that. The redhead nodded. 

“I’ll have it switched out as soon as possible. Could you fill out these forms for me with any other relevant details of his medical history and your family history?” The doctor handed over the clipboard, with at least 10 forms attached to it.

“Sure-” Ed glanced down at the last section on the first form, and stifled a curse, settling for a sigh. “Do you mind coming back at a later time? I won’t be able to complete all this today.”

“I was under the impression you were your brother’s legal guardian Mr. Elric.” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Is that not the case?” Ed blushed lightly. 

“Not  _ exactly. _ ” He didn’t know the full details of how exactly Mustang had filled out the paperwork concerning who exactly held legal guardianship over the brothers, but Ed did know that no one in the office had ever batted an eye when Ed called himself “Al’s legal guardian” during a rant or something, and if there was going to be any two people more likely to call him out on a legal fuck up than Hawkeye and Falman, he hadn’t met them. “Technically my commanding officer is the legal guardian for the both of us.” At least, that’s what he  _ assumed _ based on the staggering amount of times Mustang had dropped off some new medication or the other on Ed after he’d landed himself in the hospital.

_ Truth,  _ he  _ hoped  _ that legal guardianship was the reason why Mustang had the ability to do that in the first place, if it was for some other reason, Ed would save all of them the trouble of dealing with whatever higher-up was dealing with medical infrastructure by landing the person squarely in a hospital bed with a near zero-chance of recovery.

Ed realized belatedly that the doctor was staring at him with an expression that ranged from exasperation to flat out irritation, and straightened up. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Don’t lie to medical professionals Mr. Elric.” The doctor said blandly, which made Ed glare at him. He hadn’t lied to him! At least… Not  _ knowingly  _ so. Besides, what was he meant to do? Sign the form  _ anyways  _ and hope no one questioned why a 15-year-old was signing for a critically injured 14-year-old? The doctor turned squarely on his heel and walked out of the room. 

“I’ll see myself out then I guess.” Ed grumbled, and waited for a minute or two before walking out. He had a certain bastard to visit. 

* * *

Ed, out of sheer respect for Hawkeye (and some sense of sympathy for Mustang that he’d rather throw himself out of a window than admit to) did _not_ bang the door down.

Instead, he merely kicked it open. 

As quietly as he could, yes, but this was  _ Hawkeye and Mustang _ he was talking about. They knew his M.O. by now. 

“Hey.” He greeted upon the door swinging open. “How’s it all going in here?” Poking his head in, he saw Hawkeye sitting up, a book in her lap, and Mustang sprawled out on his bed, face planted directly in the pillow. Glancing out at the window, Ed hazarded a guess that it was only  _ maybe  _ 4:00. It seemed that Mustang’s spontaneous narcolepsy truly knew no concept of “timing.”

Besides the two injured soldiers and himself, the shared room was devoid of any human presence, though Ed knew that other people had to have been going in and out of it, due to the stacks of books scattered at the foot of Mustang’s bed, and the radio equipment hastily pushed to the corner of the room nearest the head of Hawkeye’s. 

“We’re holding up as well as we can be.” Hawkeye admitted, voice still raspy. Ed winced as he heard it, the reminder that she had come incredibly close to dying settling uncomfortably in the forefront of his mind. Stepping in, he set the clipboard down on the small table next to the door. “What are those?” 

“Papers for the bastard to sign.” Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. 

“Military discharge? I didn’t think they had even managed to get that department up and running yet considering…” She gestured vaguely around herself.

_ Considering the massacre of Central’s troops by Briggs.  _ Ed mentally finished.

“Nah, these are for legal guardianship crap. And some other medical stuff.” He pointed at a chair lying on its side by the window. “Mind if I grab that while I wait for Mustang to wake up? I won’t make too much noise, promise.”

“Go ahead.” Ed grabbed the chair, testing to see if the legs were broken before he sat down in it. Finding that they were, he sighed and clapped his hands together. Mildly aware that Hawkeye’s gaze seemed to have sharpened, Ed pressed his hands to the broken legs to fuse the parts back together. Sure, in a few months or so the chair would have to be scrapped, but for now they’d do fine. Dragging it over to the table, he collapsed into it, and started to complete the forms.

_ I can see why Mustang tries so hard to avoid his paperwork if this is what he has to deal with. Doesn’t mean that he still isn’t a lazy bastard though. _

“You kept your alchemy.” Hawkeye’s voice cut through the silence, and its tone made Ed feel like a child again, having hidden away some treat or toy from his mother to enjoy later. 

“Yeah.” He muttered, trying to bring his focus back to the paperwork. 

“I didn’t see Hohenheim around when myself and the Colonel were admitted.” The needling pricked at Ed’s lingering guilt over Hohenheim’s sacrifice, but he wasn’t about to rise to Hawkeye’s bait.

“I think the bastard fucked off again. Saved the world, saw his kids, time for one last new adventure, y’know? Didn’t even let us say goodbye, just like last time.” She fell silent for a few minutes after that one, letting Ed bury himself in the repetitive nature of the forms. 

* * *

There was no way by now that an hour hadn’t passed already, but Ed’s mental guesstimates at what time it currently was were telling him that no, it had barely been 15 minutes since he had entered the room.

Paperwork really _was_ a time sucking black hole. 

“You asked… earlier if these were discharge forms.” Ed said, out of the blue, if only to have something to say between the silences. 

“I did.” Hawkeye commented. From the corner of his eye, he saw that she had picked up the book she had been reading before he had come in. 

“Why’d you assume… Why’d you think that?”

“It’s no secret that you hate the military Edward.” She said without missing a beat. “You wouldn’t have joined up before we intervened _ — _ ” The memory of that day seemed so far away now, but he still couldn’t forget the words spoken to him _ — _ “And your time was always dedicated to finding out more information on a way to restore your bodies. Not that we faulted you for that. It would have been hypocritical even if we did so.”

“I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

“I’m not faulting you for disliking, even outright hating the military. You have a good head on your shoulders, the military is corrupt and self-serving.” She sighed. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.” 

“Can’t though.” Ed set the pen down on the clipboard, stretching, and wincing at the pain from his sitting in an uncomfortable chair for what was, evidently, a  _ far too long  _ stretch of time. 

(Even if it  _ was  _ only 15 minutes.) 

“Why not? You achieved your goals, there’s no need to stay here.” The concerned tone in her voice nearly made Ed chuckle. It reminded him too much of his early days in the military, back when other officers still hadn’t learned of his famous volatility and attachment to his freedom of movement. 

“ _ I’m afraid, Sir, that the Fullmetal Alchemist is an essential part of the Colonel’s team. As a resident active State Alchemist who has the capability to work in the field, Major Elric can only be commanded by the officer in charge of affairs for State Alchemists in residency. In any case Sir, your team is not conducive to handling Major Elric, as you would have him pushing paperwork in R&D. Unless of course, you would prefer to take your request to either the Colonel or General Grumman directly? _ ”

Hawkeye had been a godsend back then, easily defusing requests for transfer and deflecting whatever threats some of the other officers jealous of his high rank with her trusty armory. Ed’s eyes flickered over to land on Hawkeye’s belt, stripped of its familiar guns. 

Well, stripped of them for  _ now.  _ And Truth only knew when someone would deign to give them back to her. If she had it her way, someone was probably already in the throes of doing that exact thing. If not… Well, he (and by extension, everyone else) had a gun-free Hawkeye slowly tallying up their misdemeanors for a week. 

“I haven’t achieved all my goals.” Ed said at last. “There’s still things I want, no,  _ have  _ to do.” 

“Edward.” Hawkeye’s tone sharpened perceptibly. “Don’t tell me you mean _ — _ ”

“Look, I made a promise with that bastard.” He lazily waved over at Mustang’s still prone form. “I even have his money to prove it, see!” He dug in the folds on his coat to withdraw the 520 cenz he had stashed inside. “520 cenz, right here. To be repaid once he becomes Führer-President.” Putting them back, and patting the pocket for good measure, he shot her a childish grin. “He’s stingy like that.” 

“That isn’t a problem you should have to wor _ — _ ” He put a finger up to stop her complaint.

“Ah _ — _ ! You yourself said that ‘we had too much on our plates to worry about you guys’, Al’s got his body back, and I more or less managed to get out of this whole thing unscathed, I think the load on our plates has been reduced by enough that we can start to worry about you as well.”

“Alphonse still hasn’t recovered yet, he should be your top priority.” Her eyes narrowed. “And  _ what  _ was that about getting out unscathed? As far as  _ I  _ can recall Edward, you got your automail smashed up, then Alphonse sacrificed himself to get you your human arm  _ back,  _ and even then, you still have the port stuck in your arm, and  _ then  _ you performed human transmutation  _ again _ , to get Alphonse back which was supposed to leave you without your alchemy, but now you have it back again.”

Which  _ was  _ an accurate summary of events. Damn her recall. 

“I’ll explain that later, but… for now, let’s just say that I was successfully guilt tripped and leave it at that.” Her eyes widened incredulously, but she didn’t comment further. “As for Al’s recovery, I’m not gonna leave him in the lurch, but for a good chunk of time, he’s going to need to be in the hospital, and I can’t care for him if I don’t have a steady stream of income. As much as I hate to say it, the military does provide a good income.”

“Bullshit.” The curse falling from Hawkeye’s lips startled him so badly, he nearly upended the table. 

“I _ —  _ I’m sorry?”

“Bullshit. Edward Elric, you don’t  _ need  _ an income, goodness knows you never spent your salary on anything more than what you could pack in a trunk.”

“Automail made by the best is pretty expensive you know.” Ed deflected. “And on top of that, Winry and Granny extort me for all the cenz they can get. Plus, eventually the bribes I had to keep paying people to keep their mouths shut about my identity started to build up. Yeah, I’m not  _ destitute _ , but I also don’t have enough to pay for  _ all  _ of Al’s medical fees, let alone any I have on top of that.” She looked at him sadly, but leaned back in a manner reminiscent of a sigh. 

“I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“I know you just want the best for us Lieutenant, and I appreciate that, but Al and I are grown up now. Don’t need the protection and all that.”

“Alphonse is  _ 14 _ , you’re  _ 15 _ .” Hawkeye retorted. “You should be washing your hands of all this… You should be going back to a normal life, away from the corruption of the military and… and our mission.”

“We haven’t been kids for a while Lieutenant.” She looked away from him, across to the windows where the light was starting to turn to reds and oranges as it filtered in through gaps in the heavy curtains. 

“I know.” Ed sighed and got up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Lieutenant.”

“Tomorrow.” She whispered softly, and Ed left the room. Frowning to himself, he glanced out the windows in the hall. Still too early for him to say, go get dinner and then go to sleep, but too late for him to go and do any more visitations. 

Well, too late except for one person.

* * *

He found himself in front of a room in the ICU, the hallway over from where Al would be staying for the foreseeable future, and where  _ he  _ should be since his arm was still all fucked up from the metal literally embedded in it… But one more day without it getting looked at shouldn’t hurt. 

Look, if punching  _ God himself  _ out with his arm hadn’t instantaneously prevented him from ever using the limb ever again, then  _ clearly _ he was being blessed with good fortune or some other shit like that, and therefore if he wasn’t experiencing negative side effects from it being impaled with metal after actual years of it being detached from his body rendering it malnourished, he wasn’t about to go running to a doctor to take care of the as of yet nonexistent problem when he still had things to do.

He hesitated as he reached for the handle. It seemed a little… well,  _ disrespectful  _ for Ed to walk into this particular room. 

Swallowing down his fear, he gently (for real this time) opened the door. 

On the bed, surrounded by machines and hooked up to an IV, was one Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. 

“Hey Hughes.” He greeted, locking the door behind him. “You missed out on a whole lot. Just got back from punching out God and gettin’ Al’s body back.” The words were forced, just  _ watching  _ the normally animated man just…  _ lie  _ there, silent as a corpse as Ed tried to fill him in on all he’d missed… It was just depressing frankly, and Ed felt severely underprepared for the situation.

Awkwardly, he pulled up a chair. “Elicia and Gracia are doin’ fine as far as I know, I didn’t see them in any of the temporary camps or in here… And they’re both healthy, so…” An awkward silence filled the air, and Ed desperately tried to fill it. “Mustang and Hawkeye got themselves landed in the hospital though.” He suppressed whatever noise was fighting to make its way out of his throat. “And… Dammit, it’s not even  _ fair.  _ It’s not fair that so many people got dragged into  _ our  _ mess…” Ed dropped his voice to a choked up whisper as he leaned closer to Hughes, and grabbed his hand like a lifeline. 

He was acting like a child, no, acting more like a child than he had been in the past 5 years. “What gave us the right…? Why did you all think our problems were more important than yours? For  _ fucks sake!  _ You have a  _ wife and kid! _ ” Drawing back as he realized that his outburst was louder than he had meant it to be, Ed blushed and dropped his hand in his lap. “...Other than that stuff, Al’s just got admitted for treatment, and I’m waiting for him to be done before I can get my surgery, to remove all the automail junk stuck in. Winry’s gonna be so mad when she finds out I had to get it all removed.” He forced himself to laugh. “I bet that as soon as she realizes, she’ll chuck a wrench at me and shout that I was being ‘ _ so insensitive _ about her babies’ or whatever. So yeah. We’re all on the mend. That’s good.”

Silence filled the air, and Ed slowly got up from his chair. He had to leave before it got awkward. Well, more awkward than it already was. “I’ll see you ‘round Lieutenant Colonel.” With that, Ed exited the room, and made his way back to the room he had been situated in. As he got closer to said room, he was ambushed by the doctor who’d given him the forms.

“Oh, Mr. Elric, you’re back. Did you get those forms signed?”

“Were you waiting for me? That’s a bit creepy doc. And more than a little irresponsible, don’t you think?” The redheaded man leveled a glare at Ed.

“I wasn’t waiting for you the  _ entire  _ time Mr. Elric, but I was almost finished with my shift, so I decided to come around to your room and see if you had gotten the requisite forms filled out.”

“Nah, sorry. My CO’s a pretty infamous lazy bastard.” Ed shrugged. “But I’ll get ‘em signed by tomorrow. I’ll see you ‘round doc.” The man sighed, and looked up at the ceiling like he thought it would give him salvation. Well, tough news for him, the only god that existed was a capricious son-of-a-bitch who’d sooner steal his kidney than save him.

“As long as you do get them filled out.” He finally said, and then he left, leaving Ed to his own devices. As the door clicked closed, Ed sighed, and collapsed on the bed. It was uncomfortable, like most hospital beds, but it was still better than say, having to sleep in the military dorms.

Ed still found himself drifting off a few minutes later, the final dregs of his energy having been sapped by his emotional conversation with the comatose Lieutenant Colonel.

* * *

_ March 23rd, 1915 _

* * *

He rose bright and early to talk to Mustang. The man could be elusive at the best of times, but luckily enough even  _ his  _ gift of gab wouldn’t be able to save him from the eyes of the nurses and doctors that were walking around.

Plus the man was  _ blind _ . Though Ed _ would  _ grudgingly pay a decent amount of money to see Mustang try to bumble around the hospital trying to escape. If he did end up escaping, then that was all the more reason for the new regime to pour more money into hospitals, even if it  _ would _ come at the expense of Mustang gloating that he could outsmart the MPs patrolling the sector, but if he  _ failed _ at his escape attempt then Ed could laugh at him.

A mostly win-win situation.

He knocked politely on the door, the only reason for doing so being his body’s sympathy for getting up early in the morning. Never mind the fact that while he had been living in Resembool he’d normally get up by 6 to join Winry and Al in tending for some of the animals on Old Mr. Morgenstern’s farm, the way the military had handled Ed had broken his internal clock to where it was never going to be functional again.

First it had been wake-up calls at 4 A.M. during his first month when he had stayed at the dormitories, then it had been the insane task of waking up at whatever time “morning” was in whatever city he was staying in, and then it had been the complete switch to operating almost exclusively at night.

It was safe to say that his internal clock was pretty fucked up by now, if not completely broken.

He heard a scramble of motion behind the door, and he briefly considered simply kicking the door down, but held back, not really wanting a doctor or nurse to come by and ask about the damage done to it. A minute later someone (revealed to be Sergeant Master Kain Fuery) opened the door.

“Oh, Ed!” He greeted with a smile _ — _ Ed noticed that the young soldier had bruising along the sides of his jaw and temples _ ,  _ a sign that he’d gotten involved with some of the fighting during the coup despite his lack of presence at Headquarters, which made Edward wonder how and  _ why  _ he got those bruises _ —  _ “It’s good to see that you’re okay. Or, as okay as you can be in these circumstances.” His smile dimmed a little, and his eyes were far away. “How’s Al?” Just as he was about to answer, the young man was pulled aside and replaced by 2nd Lieutenant Breda. Looking him up and down, Breda hastily shoved Ed inside, causing the young alchemist to lose his balance and fall near flat on his face into the room. 

“Amazing composure Fullmetal, really.” Ed scowled as he dusted himself off.

“You try keeping yourself balanced when someone practically shoves you into a room. I’m getting back at you for that Breda.”

“Sure you will Boss. Maybe in another 10 years time.” Glaring at the portly 2nd Lt. Ed turned his attention back on Mustang. 

“You. Bastard, where’s the papers?”

“On the table. Last I checked Fullmetal, you weren’t the one who was actually  _ blind. _ ” The man deadpanned, shifting to cross his arms over his chest. 

And dammit, he couldn’t even get a good shot in with that one! What would he even say to counter that? ‘ _ At least I got my limbs ripped off in pursuit of Truth? _ ’ Because that was just wrong, on  _ so  _ many different levels, and Hawkeye would probably rip his head off if he  _ did  _ say it.

Grumbling under his breath, but secretly thankful for the normalcy of the situation _ — _ excluding the fact that Havoc wasn’t in the room and that said room had the distinct air of being located in a  _ hospital _ , Ed could almost pretend like they were back at the office in East City _ — _ He rifled through the sheaf of paper and made sure Mustang had signed off where he needed to. 

Coming to the last paper, he paused.

“This wasn’t what I gave you. Hell, I didn’t even  _ give  _ it to you, you got this from someplace else.” He said accusingly, glancing over at Hawkeye with a critical eye. The blonde woman was studiously refusing to look up from her book, even as Ed’s staring graduated to glaring. 

“Hawkeye figured that we might as well get all your affairs in order at once.” Mustang shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re so upset Fullmetal. You don’t have your alchemy anymore, it only makes sense that you would be discharged from the mil _ — _ ” 

“That’s wrong.” Ed grit out. “I can still do everything I could two days ago without alchemy. Even if I couldn’t, research alchemists were on the payroll too. Marcoh, was one. Hell,  _ you  _ were the one who introduced me to Ferrum and Hydrogen.”

“Marcoh does  _ not _ belong on that list of yours.” Mustang said. “He served in Ishval, and even if he didn’t _ — _ Well, no. He  _ did  _ use his alchemy to kill people, so I wouldn’t place him as a research-only alchemist.” 

“Fine, that doesn’t negate the fact that Ferrum and Hydrogen  _ are  _ research alchemists. Their work never gets applied to anything!” Ed recalled the day back in his first few months in East City when he had been dragged to what had appeared to be at the time, to just be some random person’s house, to meet the two alchemists.

Their specialties, unlike most, were nearly useless when it came to practical application, unlike his or Mustang’s, and like Shou Tucker, they had ran the risk of being cut off from their funding more than once. Unlike the  _ bastard  _ that had been Tucker, Ferrum and Hydrogen had simply called it quits and decided to pursue their research privately and restrained their experiments to paper.

“But they could at least carry out their experiments to prove their validity. If you were to remain a State Alchemist it would almost be impossible for you to verify your results each year, especially if you decided to continue to pursue the research into the Philosopher’s Stone like you had previously.” Ed made a face. 

“Let’s get one thing straight. Without my alchemy or not, I would never continue to research the Stone. I’m done with that thing.”

“I’m still not hearing an argument for why I should revoke my signature on those discharge papers Fullmetal.”

“I still have my alchemy.” Ed snapped. “So  _ that’s  _ why.” Silence descended upon the room for all but a minute.

Then all hell broke loose.

“What do you  _ mean  _ by that Fullmetal?” 

“What do you mean  _ ‘what do you mean’ _ , I have my alchemy! I can be a State Alchemist, no need to forcibly retire me!” Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a stress headache.

“I think the Colonel wants to know  _ how  _ you got your alchemy back, I mean, I wasn’t there, but...” Fuery trailed off. “I think we all assumed that you had given up your alchemy to save Al.” A wave of discomfort washed over Ed. The reminder only served to dredge up the memory of the transmutation, the feeling of being alchemically deconstructed still lingering in his bones.

_ “ _ **_What will you give up Mr. Al~chem~ist_ ** _?”  _ He suppressed a shiver at the thought of those words.

“Well, Truth is Truth, it wasn’t giving up Al’s body without some kind of exchange.” Ed shrugged. “So I  _ did  _ give up my ability to do alchemy… And I had thought that was the end of it. Obviously it wasn’t. I won’t lie, I’m still a little lost on the details _ — _ ” A lie, and Mustang knew it by the look on his face. Fuck it was creepy that even without the ability to see his expressions, Mustang had still retained the ability to call Ed out on his BS _ — _ “I just remember someone picking me up and carting me off, and then I remember waking up in an underground fuckin’ cavern a bit away from Headquarters. It was fuckin’ surreal I’ll tell you that for free.”

“And if we want more information than that?”

“Pay me. I charge by the word. 200 cenz.” 

Really, by now you’d think Mustang would know better than to let Ed know how much he was getting to him, but no, the young Colonel’s face was strained, a hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose once more, as the other covered his already unseeing eyes, like if he went through the rote action he’d become  _ more  _ sensually impaired than he already was.

“Your fantasies about bankrupting me aside Fullmetal _ — _ ” What a  _ joke _ , Ed’s own basic salary was something like a good 1.2 million cenz, and that was  _ without  _ the bonus pay for frequent travel to hazardous zones or his State Alchemist research fund. He’d personally go out and adopt every single stray cat on the streets of Amestris and house them all for  _ free  _ and  _ without complaint  _ if Mustang’s salary wasn’t  _ at least  _ a good 200,000 cenz higher than his own _ — _ “I still have legal guardianship over both you and Alphonse until you are both clear of the military. Are you  _ sure  _ you want to continue being under my yolk for the next however long you decide to stick around for?”

“Can’t be any worse than it already is under your oh so  _ tender loving care. _ ” Taking the last few sheets of paper out of the pile, Ed laid them down on the table, then hastily jumped back as he heard a tiny  _ snap  _ and the papers ignited. “You fucking  _ bastard— _ ” He swore profusely, and aimed a glare in Fuery and Breda’s direction. “Who the  _ fuck  _ decided it was a good idea to give Colonel Pyromaniac his gloves back?”

“Well Boss,” Breda drawled. “It wasn’t much of a choice you see. Either we gave the Chief his gloves back, or we got perforated by Hawkeye’s Quarter-bore.” 

“You  _ let _ him have his gloves?” Ed asked of Hawkeye in no little amount of disbelief. In the office Hawkeye had strict rules about the Colonel’s gloves. Namely, that he wasn’t to wear them unless he was going to be meeting with another officer or unless they were about to go out on a field mission. Mustang claimed she only had those rules as a safeguard against some idiot getting too cocky and trying to steal them, but Hawkeye had confided in Ed that a year before, Mustang had caused a fire in the office that had thankfully been put out before the rest of Headquarters noticed, and to prevent any more accidents she had banned him from wearing the gloves. 

“It’s safer for him to have them, as neither of us is in top condition, and it’s been too long since the last time the Colonel studied other arrays in any sufficient measure to be able to use them in defensive or offensive measures.” She then made a small gesture that Ed couldn’t decipher, but that Mustang seemed to understand. He fiddled with the gloves, and Ed made an involuntary hissing sound as he saw the large wound that went through both sides of Mustang’s hands. “And even though he has the gloves, it’s unlikely that an accident will occur.” Hawkeye said blandly. 

“Bradley?” Ed guessed. Mustang nodded. 

“Pinned me down so that Pride could activate the transmutation circle.” He smiled wanly. “Hurt like a bitch.” Ed nodded, recalling his own moments at the business end of Bradley’s swords. Folding the rest of the papers and shoving them into his coat pocket, he made for the door.

“If you’re gonna be stuck in the hospital like the rest of us, don’t be a stranger Boss.” Breda called as Ed closed the door.

“Hah, you  _ wish  _ I’d stay away.” Ed grinned and went to go find the doctor that had been asking for the forms. His name was… Re... _ something.  _

A trip to the front desk was in order then.

* * *

Redwood. His name had been Dr. Redwood. Maybe he’d just blocked it out because it sounded too silly and on the nose even for him? A redheaded doctor named  _ Redwood _ . That had to be the universe having a laugh. 

“Well, everything seems to be in order Mr. Elric.” The doctor flipped through the sheets of paper. “Alphonse will be put on intravenous treatment to start with, possibly for the next three months until we can pin-point the acute issues he’s having, or any side effects that might have arisen from being...” The doctor paused, “Alchemically deconstructed and then reconstructed after a period of 6 years.”

“You don’t have to say it with  _ that  _ tone Doc.” Ed gave the man an askance look. “People get alchemically injured all the time. I should know.” He muttered something Ed thought could be considered faintly derogatory if they were in East City. “So Al’s gotta be cooped up in here for 3 months on fluids only? Anything else I should know?”

“He’s going to need surgery on his left leg. The bones, specifically the tibia and fibula, practically shattered in there, probably due to some blunt force trauma in the region.”

“Al wasn’t involved in the fighting.” Ed blurted out, briefly forgetting the cover story he had come up with for Al’s condition. “I mean, he wasn’t ever hit around that area, at least, not that I can remember.”

“Perhaps the bone was just too brittle and it broke when he put too much weight on it.” Ed had a sinking feeling that  _ that  _ wasn’t the case. Al was a pile of skin and bones currently, he didn’t have much “weight” to put onto the bone in any case. No, this felt more like Truth had given his brother a “parting gift.” “He may have to rely on a cane or wheelchair after the surgery, since it’s very unlikely that he’ll recover completely due to the weakness of the bones. I would have recommended a cane or wheelchair in any case also because of the same reason.”

“I see.” Ed mentally reminded himself to check how much he had left in his account, a good portion of it would need to be set aside just for the medical bills. 

“As for yourself Mr. Elric _ — _ ”

“Can we postpone my treatment? Al’s going to need someone to look after him _ — _ ”

“Mr. Elric, while you personally have not gone for an X-ray as of yet, the injuries you displayed when you were admitted included shrapnel that managed to embed themselves into your skin, as well as the remains of automail bolting and plating. While we are not equipped to remove the automail remnants, I will inform you that the embedded shrapnel, if gone untreated, will lead to infection and possible sepsis. It is preferable that we remove it as soon as possible.” The doctor interrupted. “Additionally, said shrapnel may have torn your rotator cuff, which will need surgery in order to repair it.” Dr. Redwood’s eyes softened. “I understand that you are worried about your brother. In his condition, I don’t blame you. But you cannot look after him if you do not look after yourself first.”

Ed glanced guiltily at his shoulder, the automail plating was slightly visible under his shirt, and he knew the doctor was right. While it wasn’t exactly debilitating, probably because he had gotten used to the weight and linger pain of having a sheet of metal bolted onto him, that had been  _ with  _ automail. His arm was now flesh once more, and he didn’t need a medical degree to know that having giant screws stuck in him would only lead to bad things down the line. 

“Alright, alright. Put me down for surgery.”


	3. March 28th – April 29th, 1915

_March 28th, 1915_

* * *

The preparations for the surgery felt like a distant dream. All he could remember was the nurse patting his hand and poking him with a needle that felt more like being lanced with a superheated knife than simply being jabbed. 

It reminded him of that day, when he had laid in the caved in mine shaft, one of the load bearing pillars impaling him, his vision hazy and dark. It had felt like he had been an outside observer in his own body then, on the borderline of life and death. That sort of oppressive feeling didn’t rear its ugly head now, instead this felt much more like he was floating in the void, everything and nothing passing him by.

He didn’t know when exactly the full brunt of the anesthesia hit him, but he sure  _ felt  _ it. It was like struggling through mud, his limbs felt like lead had replaced the flesh, and all his thoughts were sluggish and simple. 

He thought he heard snippets of a conversation taking place above him, but couldn’t be sure. 

“Ed?” He blinked awake to meet blue eyes and blonde hair. 

“W-Winphry?” He slurred out, the effects of the anesthetic still not completely gone from his system. Her mouth twisted down into a frown, and she gently shoved him back down onto the table. She started talking, but all Ed heard was a murky drone, like she was trying to talk underwater. “Hoyd you getsh h-here?” 

Was there cotton in his mouth? It sure felt like there was. Her mouth twitched again, and she left his field of vision. He heard some people talking above him, Winry and the surgeon he suspected. Trying to turn to see them, he felt someone hold him down. 

The helplessness of his situation irked him, and he attempted to move again. This time, he felt someone swat him on his leg, and Winry entered his vision again, mouth knitted in a scowl. She pointed her finger in his face, and started talking.

Well, most likely shouting, but he couldn’t really tell the difference. It was just like one long barrage of underwater babbling. Still, it wasn’t like he was  _ happy  _ seeing her like that, so he experimentally tried to move his arm. It didn’t feel like lead anymore, so that was an improvement. Testing showed that he could even move it somewhat, though it felt like there was a delay between him wanting to move his arm and it actually moving. 

Ed swung the appendage off the table clumsily, drawing Winry’s attention. As she turned her head to help place it back on the steel table, Ed moved his other arm (instantly regretting it as a burst of pain lanced through and down it) to poke her in the cheek. His smile was probably kind of stupid and dopey, he imagined, as he tried to smile at her when she turned back around to face him. “G-Gla-Glad you’re h-here...” 

Her face softened, and she patted his hand, moving his arm back in position. 

Her smiling face was the last thing he saw before he blacked out again.

* * *

He woke up in the by now familiar room in the hospital.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Winry’s voice floated over from the side of the bed. Ed groaned, and shielded his eyes. 

“Can you turn off the floodlights?” He said, trying to squeeze his eyes shut, so they’d block out the light. 

“Oh right, he said that you would be a little photosensitive.” The sun blinding his eyes dimmed to merely a flashlight shining directly in his face. “Well that’s better.” He turned his face into his pillow. “Thanks Winry.”

“How’s your arm?” She asked. 

“Can’t feel it.”

“Nothing? No pain?”

“No, I mean I can’t  _ feel  _ it.” He said into the pillow. Luckily Winry had had a lifetime of experience with deciphering his mumbles and groans. 

“That must be the morphine they gave you. Tell me if you start feeling pain though, I’ll call a doctor.”

“I can bear the pain.” 

“Ed, you got your automail removed  _ and  _ a ball and socket replacement. Plus they were working to remove bits of shrapnel from the rest of your arm. You’re gonna feel more than just a little crummy.”

“Gotten worse.” Winry fell silent, like she was contemplating asking him something. 

“Ed...” Her voice was quiet, and Ed contemplated trying to look her in the face. He attempted to move his head, but the sudden blinding pain quickly put a stop to that motion. “When you had to go under for the surgery, you had to take off your shirt. You remember that right?”

“Yeah?”

“On your side,” She started, and Ed felt every cell in his body freeze up. “There was a big scar, like something had pierced you through your stomach. I’d never seen that scar before. I didn’t know where you could have gotten it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Ed whispered. 

“I could only imagine how much it hurt _ — _ ” It had both been painful and not. At the time of the impact he had been knocked unconscious, and the pain hadn’t really kicked in until he had been jolted awake _ — _ “The surgeon said that you must’ve been rushed to hospital really quickly to prevent bleeding out, but Granny and I never got a call from you or Al about something like that.” Ed realized guiltily that when she said “you or Al” she really meant the doctors at the hospital, or Mustang, not themselves. 

They had a bad track record of not wanting Winry or Granny to worry about them after all.

“I didn’t get this treated at a hospital Winry.”

“I realized that. The only times you could’ve gotten an injury like that would’ve been… Would have been after we separated at Baschool, or when you were on the run with Ling and the chimeras. Not exactly the best times for you to get treated for a gaping wound in your midriff.” The last sentence was scathingly cold, and Ed felt the urge to apologize.

“I… I can’t tell you when I got injured.” He said. “I can’t tell you how I survived it either.”

“If you say that it’s because you don’t want me to worry, Edward Elric I  **_will_ ** break your spine, damn the consequences.”

“It’s not that! It’s not that at all!” He protested weakly. “It’s… This is bigger than just  _ us  _ Winry. I can’t tell you.” He heard sniffling, and realized that Winry was crying. Trying to lift his head only brought about more pain once more, and so he just laid there.

Her cries grew louder, then muffled, like she started weeping into her hands. A feeling of helplessness washed over Ed for the second time that day.

* * *

Actually visiting Central City was unlike Winry had ever imagined.

As a little girl she had always begged to go on a trip to Amestris’ capital city, but she had always been denied on the basis that they had no money, or that her parents couldn’t take a “baby” along with them, and later on in life, because the people she had wanted to go with had already passed away. 

Still, well into her early adolescent years, her dreams had been filled with the sights of Central. In her mind, it was only rivaled by Rush Valley. And then she’d gotten the chance to visit when she had been called to repair Ed’s automail while he’d been stuck in the city. 

Getting the call had been a mix of frustration, excitement and worry. On one hand, it was the chance to go to  _ Central City  _ and on the other, the only reason she was able to go was because Ed was  _ injured _ , his arm broken because of a fault in  _ her  _ design. She was sure any lesser automail mechanic would have given up right there and then, just left the trade after knowing that after  _ so many years  _ working on the design they  _ still  _ hadn’t gotten it quite right. 

Of course, she wasn’t just _ any _ mechanic, she was Winry Rockbell, the latest in a line of Rockbell women to take up the automail trade and help provide mobility to those who needed it. So she had bundled up all her tools into a bag, and gotten on the first train to Central. 

The sights going into the city had been a first. Winry was used to the low structures and buildings of Resembool, used to long winding dirt roads and ancient bridges built with wood and stone. She grew up in a place that was situated right in the middle of a valley between two mountains, a place that was out of the way and mostly quiet in the days aside from the animals. A small town that had about  _ 500  _ people living within it,  _ at most.  _

Central City was like the polar opposite of all of that. The first difference she noticed was the presence of the Military Police, they had stopped everyone and interrogated them, well, looking back on it, it  _ really _ wasn’t an interrogation, just some simple questioning, though she had certainly felt like she had been interrogated at the time. 

_ “How old are you miss?” One of the young faced MPs had asked, as he stamped her ticket.  _

_ “I’m 14 Sir.” She had said, all puffed up and proud. She had thought herself an adult at that time, thought herself more mature than her years. To be fair, when compared to the children of Resembool, she was correct. She, Ed, and Al  _ **_were_ ** _ more mature than the other kids, that was just how it washed out. So his next question had caught her off guard. _

_ “Where are your parents?” No one had asked her that question in a good long while now. She could barely remember the last time she’d been asked, and that had been only a few days before her parents’ departure to Ishval. At any rate, it was normal for kids in Resembool to do their errands without a parent’s supervision, did it not work that way in Central? _

_ “I didn’t come with them.” She answered honestly. The MP’s face changed, he was practically exuding an aura of worry. _

_ “You’ll have to come with me then miss, you can’t—” _

_ “I’m an automail mechanic!” Winry interrupted, digging in her pockets to find her license. “See! I’m qualified! And I have a patient who needs me, so I have to get going!” She practically thrust the card in his face, then pulled away from him.  _

_ “Wait, miss—!” She gave one last hard tug and managed to fully pull away, running from the train station. Annoyed at being seen as a child and at having lost time, Winry booked it from the station to the hospital Ed was currently in.  _

_ While she  _ **_had_ ** _ been planning to rent a hotel room or book an inn (Ed’s position as a State Alchemist  _ **_was_ ** _ good for something other than his quest to get his and Al’s bodies back: Money), Mr. Hughes had been kind enough to allow her to stay in his apartment, and she had graciously accepted, though the charity had rankled her a bit. It was probably just left over resentment from having been treated like a child by the MP at the train station, and she had kept her mouth shut. _

_ (Unlike Ed, Winry did have a sense of  _ **_tact_ ** _ after all, and she wasn’t about to say no to free accommodation even if it did sting at her pride a bit) _

_ On the ride to his apartment, after marveling at the mechanical workings of the car and pestering Mr. Hughes with questions that he admittedly tried his best to answer but either didn’t know very much about or was just flat out wrong, she asked him about the MP’s reaction. _

_ “I’m  _ **_14_ ** _ , not a baby! I don’t need my parents to shadow me everywhere I go.” She complained. The Lt. Colonel had fallen silent for a moment. _

_ “I think I get why Ed acts the way he does now.” He said as an aside. As he pulled up at an intersection, he turned to face Winry. “Winry, do… Do kids in Resembool go out without adult supervision a lot?” _

_ “Yeah, I could do grocery runs by myself by the time I was 5. Same with Ed and Al.” _

_ “I see.” Turning back just as the lights turned to green, the bespectacled man hummed a tune under his breath. “I guess the reason the MP acted like that is because that doesn’t really happen in Central. It’s a big place here, and kids can get lost really easily without an adult around.” _

_ “The market can’t be  _ **_that_ ** _ far away.” _

_ “Central City has 12 different districts Winry. No kid can be expected to know how to traverse all those roads by the time they’re 5. It… Does Resembool have several markets?” _

_ “No, just Mr and Mrs. Schmidts’ marketplace, everyone sells there. I guess there’s the drugstore too and the old Wagenhouse, but mostly everyone sells at the market.” _

_ “I see. Well, in Central—” here he paused— “In the part of the city where Gracia and I live, it’s mostly dominated by apartment buildings. We don’t have a single market to service everyone. The store Gracia and I frequent is on 5th Street. It doesn’t always carry everything, but Gracia’s parents own a farm out East, so we can make-do with having less selection. Some people who don’t live as close to Military Square as we do get their groceries from Richard’s. More selection, but it’s a bit pricer. And that’s just our small slice of Central, think about how many grocery stores you’d have to service all 1 million of us in the city. Then take that number and apply it to schools and streets and other utilities.” _

_ “Oh.” Winry said, the realization dawning on her. “You could get lost really easily...” _

_ “Yes. So the guard wasn’t being patronizing, or at least, not intentionally. It’s the norm in Central for children to be accompanied by adults, because the urban architecture is different. In Resembool, the structure of the town is much more compact, and you most likely know most, if not everyone who lives there, so you feel safer about letting a child walk around unattended.” _

_ “That makes sense.” She fidgeted in her seat. “Then… Who looks after Ed and Al?” Mr. Hughes seemed to jolt forwards in his seat a little. _

_ “Well, I suppose that typically falls to Colonel Mustang.” The black haired man said. “Though his surveillance  _ **_is_ ** _ somewhat a bit hands-off.” He admitted.  _

_ “Ed says that you and the Colonel are friends. You don’t sound really reassured.” Winry laughed.  _

_ “I’ve known him a long time, and I’ll be the first to say that he is  _ **_very_ ** _ awkward around children. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was going to drop Elicia when he first got to hold her.” He laughed. “Actually, let me tel— Oh, we’re here.” Parking, Mr. Hughes helped her out. “Do you want me to take your bag?” _

_ “No, I’m fine!” _

The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her face. It was a shame that her next trip to Central City couldn’t be like her first. They had started the same, a call out of the blue telling her that Ed was in the hospital and that she should come over to fix his automail. 

Or rather,  _ remove  _ the remnants of his automail. At first, that had given her pause, until she realized that if she was being called to remove Ed’s automail, then that meant that he had done it. He had gotten their bodies back. Then happiness and relief filled her. The call meant that they were both  _ alive _ , that they’d done the impossible and survived it. 

She had taken the first possible train to Central City. The sights were nearly a blur to her, the rolling grasslands, golden farmlands, and short squat buildings of the East sped by her so quickly, and then, like it had all been a dream, she was in Central. The sights were such a contrast, not just to the idyllic, picturesque East, but to her memory of the city. 

The train station was collapsing in on itself, the building had massive chunks of brick taken out of it, she could see the streaks of gunpowder stained on some of the buildings. The tracks themselves were warped up at the tunnels, which told a foreboding tale. As she stepped out into Central City proper, she noticed that some of the asphalt was melted, some buildings were likewise singed, but some, like the train station, had chunks of the building taken out. Lines wrapped around the block, and the streets were empty of any mechanical traffic. The MPs, while dense, just like last time, were clearly missing a portion of their forces. 

In just a few months, Central had transformed from a bustling city to a near ghost town. It was like a war had gone down in Central’s streets. 

Uneasily she thought to herself that a war  **_had_ ** gone down in Central’s streets. Walking past the people of Central, she made her way to the hospital.

“Hello?” She asked as she entered the building, stopping before she ran into someone rushing by. The lobby was filled to the brim, she saw mothers on the walls cradling crying children. There were people being carted away on steel stretchers, some covered with blankets, and others she wished  _ were _ . Weaving her way through the crowd of people, she managed to get to reception. “Hello, my name is _ — _ ”

“Ma’am, if you have an injury I’m sorry, but right now _ — _ ”

“No, I’m an automail mechanic. Winry Rockbell of Rockbell Automail, based in Resembool, Salzach District, East Amestris.” Winry cut him off, taking out her license and pushing it forwards. “My client, Edward Elric, contacted me, apparently he’s due for automail removal after a shoulder surgery?” The man (boy really, he looked so  _ young _ ) glanced at her license, and briefly looked something up in a stack of charts and clipboards. 

“Resembool, Resembool...” He muttered. “That’s Code _ — _ ”

“Code 0543.” She said, impatience underlying her tone. 

“Ah. Here, yes, we made an outgoing call to the Resembool service region, that must have been to you. Mr. Elric’s normal room is room 156. Currently, he is in Operating Theatre 4, you’ll find it down the second hallway in the ICU unit. His surgery should be finished at noon today.”

“Thanks.” Winry said, shifting her backpack, and walking down the hall he had described to her. As she walked, the general noise and hustle and bustle of the lobby slowly faded away, probably due to the need for near absolute silence in the Operating Theatres. Finding the correct room, she waited on the bench beside it, waiting to see if anyone would open the door anytime soon. Even if they didn’t, she’d gotten to the hospital at around 10:30, so it wasn’t like she’d have to wait an inhumanly long time. Spotting an abandoned newspaper on the steel bench, she took it up to flip through the current events.

_ Grumman, Hakuro, Others Clash in the Bid to Become Führer _ , _ Economic Downturn Likely, Automail Surgeries on the Rise  _ were the big headliners. She couldn't care less about the first, her political opinions more or less summing up to: At least whoever wins won’t be Bradley. 

The economic forecast was scary enough, but given that it was mostly Central Command that had been damaged and not every single major metropolitan area in Amestris, she dismissed that one as well. The last simply meant that she and Granny might have more business in the future.

So really, business as usual in Amestris. 

* * *

_April, 21st 1915_

* * *

Winry still felt sort of awkward visiting the comatose Lt. Colonel Hughes. Though she supposed that he might still be technically considered a Brigadier General since no one had likely gotten around to updating his status in a while, what with all the fighting and overthrowing the government and all. 

Still, watching the man sit there, silent and still unnerved her. The man lying on the bed didn’t match up with her recollection of the man she had known, only for a brief time, yes, but she  _ had  _ known him. Maes Hughes was animated and energetic, he loved springing out of nowhere to annoy someone with his love for his wife and daughter. While he wasn’t exactly clean-shaven, he did his best to look presentable in the mornings, only leaving the stubble because Elicia liked it when it tickled her face. 

There was a knock on the door, and she looked up to see Mrs. Hughes step in with Elicia.

“Oh hello Mrs. Hughes, I’ll ju _ — _ ”

“It’s fine Winry, sit down, I’m not trying to chase you out.” Gracia smiled and set Elicia down. “We won’t be staying for very long either.” 

“...Thank you.” Winry whispered. 

“You’ve eaten right? I don’t want to think that you were here all night long without something to eat...” 

“Actually I only came in about a few minutes ago.” Winry said. “And I didn’t come in at night either.” Mrs. Hughes’ smile became slightly fixed and wooden. Winry’s eyes fixed themselves on the floor to avoid it. That smile, the “I’m trying to keep it together smile”, hurt her more than anything else Mrs. Hughes could have said or done in reaction to the news. 

“I see.” That said, the brunette woman crossed over to her husband and sank into the cloth backed chair at his bedside. Caressing his hand, Gracia sighed and started talking, Elicia occasionally chiming in. The chatter was mostly there to fill time, and keep the room from going completely silent, but Winry remembered the doctors saying that even though he was comatose, he could likely still hear them, so talking to him was a good idea.

Really, she was just scared if they were wrong, that he wasn’t hearing them, and the suggestion was for  _ them  _ the people who were awake and worried about the man in the hospital bed. Suddenly, the uneasiness became too much to bear, and Winry decided to leave. Waving at Elicia, she smiled slightly to cheer the girl up, and left. 

_ “The doctors say that he slipped into a coma due to hypoxia.” Mrs. Hughes had explained to her as she handed her a cup of tea. “Elicia doesn’t understand it very well, all she knows is that her father isn’t waking up.” _

_ “Hypoxia?” _

_ “Lack of oxygen, I didn’t even know  _ **_how_ ** _ that would have happened, but then when I stopped by Headquarters… Well, it was easy to see after that.” _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “A fire broke out in the Archives, luckily he was the only person in the area so no one else got caught up in it, but during his escape he managed to injure himself it looks like.” Mrs. Hughes’ expression crumpled. “He managed to get to the phone booth, the phone was… The phone was decoupled, he had tried to call someone… I don’t know who just yet, they aren’t giving me that information.” _

_ “But you’re his wife!” Winry interjected. “Shouldn’t you have the righ—” _

_ “It’s complicated Winry, and I’m content to let the Investigations Department handle it for now.” They fell into silence, until the sharp sounds of a phone ringing split the air. “Let me get that.” Mrs. Hughes got up to answer the phone, and Winry was left with her own thoughts on the matter. _

_ A coma due to a lack of oxygen… Winry knew that smoke inhalation could stymie the body’s ability to take in oxygen, she’d seen enough fires break out in the fields as a child to realize that if you breathed in too much smoke you’d eventually die from it. The injuries certainly wouldn’t have helped either, since those would have made him spend even more time within the smoke. _

_ Still, at least he had managed to get out, Winry knew that often times, it wasn’t the lack of oxygen that killed, but rather the heated air and burns caused by the fire. But the fact that he had gone for the phone booth bothered her. Had he been trying to call home? Was he trying to call the fire department? An ambulance? Maybe since it was a fire, he had been trying to get in contact with Colonel Mustang, but  _ **_he_ ** _ was in East City which was a good few hours away from Central City, even by military train, so that couldn’t have been it.  _

_ Mrs. Hughes came back in the middle of her musing.  _

_ “Sorry about that Winry.” Her smile looked faker than she had ever seen it. “I… I received an update on the case.” _

Now of course, she knew the full story: 

The Lieutenant Colonel had found out the details about the Homunculi’s Countrywide Transmutation Circle, and had been approached by Lust, the homunculus that had gone on to injure 2nd Lt. Havoc and Colonel Mustang down in the 5th Laboratory. She had pierced him in the arm, but he had managed to injure her as well apparently, judging by a conversation she had overheard between the Colonel and Mrs. Hughes. 

She had then set the fire, causing Lt. Colonel Hughes to abandon his research and flee. He had run into the homunculus Envy during his attempted escape, and had been delayed and injured. When he had finally gotten away, he had stumbled past the receptionist, who he had made a cryptic comment to about contacting the Führer, before yelling at her to run away. Then he had managed to get himself into the phone booth to try to contact the Colonel, but the extended stay within the smoke and his accumulated injuries had taken its toll on the battered man, and he had passed out before being able to pass on his information. 

Envy had disguised themselves as Lieutenant Maria Ross, trying to frame her for starting the fire in a ploy to kill Mr. Hughes. The receptionist had seen Envy-disguised-as-Ross and assumed that she had been the one who had given him his injuries, and had reported her to the MPs. During her interrogation, she had also been pinned as the person who started the fire, and thereby had been the culprit in sending the Lt. Colonel into a coma. 

It sounded unreal to her even now, but those had been the facts of the case once everything was settled and done, but they still weren’t a help in devising a treatment plan for the comatose man. All they could do now was wait for him to wake up on his own. 

_ Mom and Dad could have figured it out.  _ A traitorous voice whispered in her head. She dismissed it, her parents were good doctors, but  _ no one  _ knew how to bring a person out of a coma. All that was known was that the longer a person stayed in a coma, the worse off they’d likely be, with few exceptions.

She could only hope that he would wake up soon.

* * *

_April, 29th 1915_

* * *

Al frowned as Ed presented him with the wheelchair. 

“C’mon Al, you know that we can’t defy the doctor’s orders.”

“I want to use my own two feet to walk! I’m not an invalid Brother!” He hated the double standard Ed had set for them. If Al was the one hurt then Brother would drop everything he was doing and baby Al until he was satisfied. But if  _ Ed  _ was the one to be hurt? It was like prying teeth to get him to even admit to being injured, let alone letting him be  _ taken care of _ . 

_ “I don’t deserve a luxury like that Al.” Brother had smiled self-deprecatingly. “After everything I’ve done to you, I don’t deserve a luxury like care.” _

Firming up his stance so that Ed would have a harder time moving him (not that it added that much in the way of difficulty, he was already emaciated and the surgery back in March hadn’t done his body mass any favors), Al frowned deeper at him to try to convey his deep distaste for having to use the wheelchair. 

“I know you’re not an invalid Al.” Ed tried to placate him. “But it’s doctor’s orders. If you want to move around, you have to use the wheelchair.”

“You don’t use your brace.” Al pointed out, referring to the metal brace the doctors had recommended Edward to wear after his shoulder surgery. He blushed a little, and coughed. 

“That’s different, the brace was only  _ recommended  _ for me to use, but the wheelchair is mandatory.” Which… Okay that was true. Al decided to try a different route of attack.

“But shouldn’t I be trying to walk as much as possible to rehabilitate my legs? That’s what Lieutenant Havoc is doing.” Ed’s mouth twitched down a little as Al mentioned the blond sharpshooter. While they were both happy to see him recover, the use of the Philosopher’s Stone  _ in  _ that recovery had still both of them on edge, and consequently, had soured their relationships just a tad with Colonel Mustang and his team, though they would both admit that realistically it had been the only way they would have been able to achieve their goals.

“Havoc didn’t spend nearly 5 years living off of almost no nutrition, his body can handle rehabilitation, yours can’t.” Which was, again, a good point. Maybe Winry was rubbing off on his brother a bit? Al did notice that they were spending a lot more of their free time together when they could. 

“But  _ Brother... _ ”

“Nope! You’re not changing my mind on this one Al!” Ed rocked the wheelchair. “So, it’s either the wheelchair, or you’re staying inside today.”

“I’m not going to miss the Spring Festival Brother.” Al said, a tiny bit of petulance seeping into his voice. 

“The wheelchair it is then.” Ed helped Al into the wheelchair, then grabbed a few blankets off of the bed and plopped them into his lap. 

“Brother...” Al’s voice took on a dangerous tone. 

“The doctors said that we should look out for wind chill _ — _ ”

“I’m  _ not  _ fragile!” Al yelled, crossing his arms. “I’m not going to die because of a little wind!” Ed sighed. 

“I know you won’t Al, I’m just trying to follow all the precautions, I’m still a little worried that Truth did  _ something  _ that’ll send you ping-ponging right back to the Gate if we’re not careful. I’m not trying to belittle you either, and if you need another reason besides the one I just gave as to why I’m doing all this, well, our medical bills aren’t exactly change in my pocket. My salary’s enough to cover it for now, but if we get any more hurt, well, I don’t want to test the limits of the money we  _ do  _ have, and I’m not going to ask Granny and Winry to pay it for us.”

Guilt washed over him. Ed was right, the reality of the situation was that they couldn’t afford to play around with their injuries. Sure Ed was still on the military’s payroll, but with Grumman gearing up to become the next Führer, who said that he would still be  _ allowed  _ to remain? And even if he was allowed to stay, that didn’t mean that hospital bills would suddenly become cheaper.

He wasn’t about to dwell on Ed’s concerns about Truth, he’d had enough of the creepy  _ otherness  _ of the Gate for two lifetimes. 

“I understand.” He said honestly, the earlier irritation he had felt melting away like ice under a hot light. Keeping a tight hold on the blankets, he kicked out a little to let Ed know he was ready to go. 

* * *

The Spring Festival tended to be different everywhere you went, an old holdover from back when Amestris was a country the size of modern day East City, and as the nation expanded, regions would take the old celebration and change it to better accommodate their own local culture.

Central City was no exception of course. 

The streets were lined with flowers, the old moonlight towers trotted out and repaired from a collaboration between some civilian alchemists and the city council in a joint initiative to promote the higher end technical academies. Al viewed it as a bit of a waste, after all, the light emitted from the towers wasn’t exactly well…  _ bright _ , but he supposed that with the lights from  _ everything else  _ that bright lighting from the towers weren’t exactly needed. 

“Can’t get anything to eat… Maybe horseshoe tossing? But it’s Central, they might not have that...” Ed muttered from above him as they trundled down the sidewalk, pushing against the flow of people dancing and generally crowding the street. 

“Is Winry going to be coming as well?”

“Oh, she’s being hounded at the hospital, looks like the staff really want her to look at some of the soldiers who need or already have automail.” The casual way Ed referenced the fact that a good 10% of Central’s military force was still injured or incapacitated in some way made Al wince. Luckily the city hadn’t been completely destroyed during the Promised Day (the Festival wouldn’t have been so grand otherwise), but the reminder that the city was only just now bouncing back was still a sobering one. 

“Do you think they'll finally decide who to make Führer this month Brother?”

“Maybe, but honestly, I think the Brass is waiting for Mustang to get out before they make any serious bids, but everyone in the know knows that Mustang’s not leaving without Havoc, and no one knows when  _ his  _ rehab will be over.”

“I don’t think so actually.” Al mused. He remembered reading a newspaper article about the current candidates, one of whom was the current Lieutenant General George Grumman, and the way he’d flaunted his connections to the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye (he remembered nearly choking on his water when he read that she was his granddaughter) hadn’t seemed like the actions of someone who was  _ waiting  _ on their support, more like someone who was willing and ready to use all of their connections no matter if the other parties were  _ actually  _ supportive of them. “Everyone else seems pretty sure that they'll come to a decision soon, and that Grumman will probably get it...”

“With his biggest supporter in the hospital?” Ed asked skeptically as he maneuvered Al through a tricky gap between two cars.

“With his biggest  _ rival  _ in the hospital.” Al corrected. “Or rather,  _ liability _ , I know you heard the Colonel when he was nearly about to light Grumman’s correspondence letter from last week on fire. And his reaction to that newspaper article hadn't been pretty either…"

“I don’t really see how he’s a liability though, I mean, sure there’s his status as an Ishval veteran, but Grumman’s not working on military reform, he’s the one all for keeping the old guard. And besides all of  _ that _ , Mustang's one of the key members of the coup! Having his student be a 'Hero of Central' or whatever has  _ got  _ to be good press.” At Al’s look of surprise, Ed smirked. “I do  _ so _ listen to Mustang when he gets all catty about ‘political acumen’ or whatever other weaselly bullshit he’s on about at that particular point in time.”

“Well, everyone in Mustang’s faction knows that he wants to be Führer someday.”

“And kill himself in the process.” Ed muttered, to which Al  _ agreed  _ with the sentiment, but wasn’t about to give voice to. 

“But we don’t know if  _ Grumman’s _ in  **_Mustang’s_ ** faction. We know that they’ve worked together, and that Hawkeye’s his granddaughter, but that’s it.”

“But Mustang got away with practically anything he wanted back at East, and that was when Grumman was in charge there.”

“Yeah, as a  _ Lieutenant General _ , not as the  _ Führer.  _ If Grumman realizes that Mustang wants to be Führer, well, think about it, who’s more likely to make the position? A relatively young man who’s famous for his alchemy and for  _ ending a war _ , who is also being hailed as one of the 'Heroes of Central', versus a relatively unknown General to anyone who’s not from out East?”

“Oh… He’d be a liability, or a rival.” 

“Exactly.” Al said. “...I’m just worried Brother, you’re going back into the military, and I won’t be able to be with you, not like before, and you’re going to have to deal with all this now...”

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see. I do all my best work when I’m thrown into the deep end anyways.” Ed boasted. Al privately thought that his brother was getting a  _ little  _ too far in over his head, but kept silent. “Anyways, enough of politics, let’s go get some ice cream!”


	4. June 5th – December 31st, 1915

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that happened while posting this chapter: Belatedly realizing that the section for June 5th is so short that I accidentally pasted in everything from June 5th to the last section of 1915 because I thought it was longer :V
> 
> So that was embarrassing. 
> 
> Other fun facts include the idea of the December section being it's own chapter, but then I promptly took one look at how long it was and decided: nah.

_ June 5th, 1915 _

* * *

The day they’d been released from the hospital was one of great relief for Ed. For one thing, it meant no more tests or surgeries, no more sitting on Al’s bed waiting for his medication to kick in before going to sleep himself, no more watching Winry try to hide her sadness at seeing them in the hospital.

Being  _ out  _ of the sterile environment meant only good things. 

Well, that was  _ almost _ true, because his life was a roller coaster of action meant specifically to keep him permanently off balance. 

Getting out of the hospital also meant that he was fit enough to be able to serve in the military again. Theoretically speaking anyways. Thankfully at least, Mustang had headed that off by granting him a good 6 months of leave before he had to report back to Central Headquarters. 

_ “Get out of here Fullmetal, I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you until 6 months have passed.” The bastard had handed over the papers with a smirk. “Not that we’ll notice, you  _ **_are_ ** _ so incredibly  _ **_short_ ** _ after all.” _

_ “I am  _ **_not_ ** _ short! I’m nearly as tall as you!” _

_ “In your dreams shrimp.”  _

The papers were safely stored in his suitcase, just in case any MPs asked why he was out and about and not in Central helping the rebuilding efforts, but he wasn’t really anticipating being stopped, he was still the famous Fullmetal Alchemist _ — _ though people often confused Al’s armor with him, which was still something that irritated him to no end, even if he understood  **_why_ ** the discrepancy occurred _ — _ and he had the pocket watch to prove it.

“How are the seats Al? Comfortable? Do I need to transmute them for you?”

“They’re  _ fine  _ Brother.” The note of friendly exasperation in Al’s voice made Ed smile. Honestly,  _ anything  _ Al did these days made him smile. It was actual proof,  _ real proof  _ that they’d done it, that they’d gotten their bodies back. 

“Well, as long as you’re fine with it.” Ed acquiesced. The familiar whistle and rumble that signalled that the train was about to get moving jolted him a bit, plastering his face against the window. Prying himself free, he rubbed at the now tender bump on his forehead, catching a shot of his… colleagues? Could he call them colleagues? Well, either way, he saw Havoc and Fuery struggling to smother their laughs as they stood on the other side of the tracks. Flipping them the bird, Ed frowned and sunk back into the seat.

Very quickly, the train started picking up steam, its wheels spinning faster and faster as it slowly started to inch away from Südkreuz Station. 

“It still feels strange to just be going home.” Al said.

“I know what you mean.” Ed admitted. “It’s like leaving our work unfinished. Still, it’s not like we can complain, we still need to recuperate.”

“Yeah...” Al said quietly, and Ed turned to look out the window. The sights of Central City were now quickly whizzing by. By this time tomorrow, they’d be in Resembool, back home.

Ed still felt strangely empty.

* * *

_September 14th, 1915_

* * *

Winry went out to collect the mail, hopping on her (quite frankly  _ old _ ) bike as she waved goodbye to Ed who was sitting in the window. She felt free as she pedaled harder and harder, the wind whipping through her hair. 

Some of it got in her mouth, as she laughed, but for the most part, her hair had managed to stay out of her face. Coming to a halt near the red brick building that was affectionately termed a “post-office” by the residents of Resembool, Winry walked the bike to the rack and chained it up. Not that she had to worry about it being stolen, after all, everyone knew everyone in their small town, and they all knew better than to steal, especially from her. 

Never mind the two alchemists back home who could probably put the fear of God into whoever dared steal from her, or even Granny and her ever present stern air, Winry could be plenty threatening herself, what with her wrench and her applied experience with human anatomy. 

Walking into the building, she greeted the other residents currently milling about, and walked up to the Postmaster’s desk. 

“Morning!” She smiled brightly, fixing her hair back with a hairband as she talked. 

“Morning Ms. Rockbell, collecting for two again?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you have a package from Rush Valley _ — _ ” Winry had to stop herself from snatching the valuable box right then and there _ — _ “And the Elric boys have a package for them too, this one’s from Central City, didn’t know you kids knew anyone like that up there.” 

“From Central, are you sure? Is it military?” Of course, as soon as the second statement left her mouth she felt quite foolish. None of Ed’s coworkers in the military would send him or Al anything that needed military packaging.

Or at least she hoped so, alchemists could be really strange like that sometimes. 

Still, a package from Central didn’t leave her with many options, either it was from Ed’s coworkers, or maybe it was from Mrs. Hughes, but that couldn’t be right either, since it wasn’t anywhere near any of their birthdays or a major holiday. 

“Nope, civilian packaging, says it’s from a Mrs. Gracia Hughes?” Or she could stand to be corrected. 

“Ah, we know her.” Winry confirmed, and deposited the amount owed, a paltry 20 cenz, barely a drop in the bucket compared to what she was going to earn from her automail repairs. “Thanks again.” Picking up the packages, she deposited them in the basket of her bike, and set off for home. 

As she rode, she wondered what could be inside the package Mrs. Hughes had sent. She was a sentimental woman, but she was very practical too, so it wasn’t likely to be food. It could be a sort of care package, perhaps for Ed and Al, like some alchemy books. Ideas raced across her mind as she rode along, not even looking up to say hello to her neighbors as she passed. 

Braking, she managed to stop before she was run over by Den running to greet her. Getting off the bike allowed for the large dog to knock her down to the ground through, slobbering all over her face. “Gerroff Den!” She gently pushed the overly friendly dog off of her, and dusted herself off. She was  _ absolutely  _ going to need to wash up after this. Picking up the packages before Den could knock her bike over and rip into them, she opened the door. ‘Ed, Al! You guys have mail!“ 

Ed appeared first, face smudged with something that might have been oil, might have been some random liquids he was working with currently. 

“From who?”

“Mrs. Hughes.”

“Didn’t she say to call her Ms. Gracia?” Ed asked as he pulled himself free of the mess he was making in the back room. 

“Respect is important Ed!” Winry protested, handing him the package as he disentangled himself. 

“Respect is overrated, technically I’m supposed to show Mustang respect, but it’s not like I do. And he doesn’t get pissy about it.” Except, that was a blatant  _ lie  _ but Ed seemed to show no progress in having the self-awareness to realize that. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and picked up one of her screwdrivers that had been lying around and sliced the box open.

Ed, ever the showoff, clapped his hands, pressed them to the box, and alchemically opened it. 

“Did you really need to use your alchemy to open a  _ box  _ Brother?” Al asked from the doorway into the back room. 

“It’s convenient!” Ed tried to defend.

“It’s a gross misuse of power.” Al countered, to which Ed groaned, and clapped his hands over his ears. The other two blondes shared a long-suffering look. Al rolled forwards, and peered into the box. “Oh, there’s a letter in here!” He reached in and handed the envelope to Winry so she could open it. She did so, then handed the opened envelope back. Al took out the paper inside, and from a glance she could tell it was the special military stuff. 

A frown marred her face. Why would someone need to disguise a military letter within a civilian package? Then Al let out a yelp and dropped the letter. He turned to the box and grabbed a photo out of it. He scrutinized it, then handed it off to Ed, who was staring at him with slight trepidation. Then Ed turned pale as well, and he dropped the photo. Annoyed with their theatrics, Winry picked it up to look at it herself.

She understood their reactions now.

It was a picture of a moribund Maes Hughes, sitting up in the hospital bed, eyes slightly unfocused, but  _ open,  _ being hugged by Gracia and Elicia. She turned the photo over, and saw a tiny inscription on the back:

_ Maes wakes up, August 15th, 1915. _

* * *

_December 31st, 1915_

* * *

Aguillan 1915: It just kind of happened. 

The celebrations that year weren’t celebratory in the traditional sense. This year they were rote and unfulfilling. In a way the celebration was so serious that it warped into being silly. They were alive despite the universe having thrown every single dangerous act under the sun at them, celebrating that fact was  _ supposed  _ to be the purpose of the day, but here they were, in the graveyard placing flowers in front of Trisha Elric’s grave and placing letters on to the freshly marked tomb for Mr. Hohenheim.

There was nothing else to  _ do _ . Should they instead just bask in the notion that this time last year they'd been stuck between Kimblee and a cliff edge, and that they had somehow managed to get out of it mostly unscathed? 

The general greetings were of course observed, going around to all the neighbors, giving them thanks and good wishes. Winry had even gone to Mrs. Lechner’s house and made sure to give the lady a well crafted basket instead of the usual half-assed ones she usually made for the holiday. 

Having a moribund experience on the daily for a good few months while  _ also  _ living in existential dread over the safety of the people she considered family had certainly had… an  _ effect  _ on Winry’s perspective of her actions. She stood a little ways away from Ed and Al, placing most of her attention on the graves of her own parents. Granny was right behind her, having said her own piece to Mr. Hohenheim and Ms. Elric. She felt out of place, as she stared at the flat gray gravestones.

“Take your time Winry.” Granny said. “It’s always hard.” She knew that. Because she always froze up, never knew what to say. Years had passed, and she still hadn’t changed, not like Ed and Al, who had started their journey just as confused and lost as she felt now, and had grown up to become people who were able to sort through the grief and their feelings to be able to say what they had wanted to say all along. 

“...Could you leave me alone for a little?”

“Be back in time for dinner Winry.” Granny said sternly, though her eyes were soft. “Come along boys, Al, you’ll catch your death out here.” Neither blond boy made an objection, though Ed lingered for a second longer than his younger brother.

Though, she could have imagined that.

Alone at the graves, Winry sank to her knees, her hands crushing the stems of the flowers she’d brought even more than she already had.

“I still miss you.” She whispered, her words carrying on the cold wind. “I miss you  _ so,  _ **_so_ ** _ much _ , it’s like I found out you were dead all over again.” She choked on her words. “...I’m ashamed of it, I… I nearly became a killer over it.” She remembered vividly the time when she had held the then Lieutenant Hawkeye’s gun at Scar, hands ready to pull the trigger even as tears streamed down her face. “I just wish you were here.”

She let the crushed flowers fall upon their graves, and sat there. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of  _ actual  _ Aguillan celebrations, the fireworks going off and the screaming laughter of children were a dead give away that the celebrations were only just now reaching their peak. She could envision the fires being lit as the sun slowly sunk beyond the horizon, the gifts being exchanged with the children, the charms being hung up on doors, the older folks staying up on the porch of the Town Hall, trading stories over mulled wine. 

She remembered sneaking out with Ed and Al, before Ms. Trisha had died, before they had lost their bodies, before she knew her parents had died. 

_ Looking out from the big hill, Resembool seemed so small, like Winry could take her foot and crush it.  _

_ “It’s so pretty!” She had squealed, running around and making a general nuisance of herself. _

_ “Shh! You don’t want the adults to find us, do you dummy?” Ed had scolded, helping Al up onto the hill’s peak.  _

_ “Don’t be mean Brother...” Al had whispered, a chubby hand grasping Ed tightly.  _

_ “She needs to be quiet Al!” Ed had huffed, but didn’t say anything more. Winry had the good grace to blush.  _

_ “How’d you find this place, huh Ed?” She asked.  _

_ “Mom took us up here once, not  _ **_now_ ** _ obviously, but remember when we got to see shooting stars? That night she took us out here, it looked really cool.” Winry was almost jealous of his memory, but she reasoned that it couldn’t have been better than the view from her father’s shoulders. Ed and Al and Ms. Trisha could keep their hilltop. _

_ “Well, it  _ **_is_ ** _ really pretty. You can see across the mountains from here! Oh, and the fires are so bright!” _

_ “Speaking of the bonfires, I brought some food.” Ed said, reaching into his pockets for some candies. He doled them out equally, three each for the three of them. He paused, for a second, but simply sat down  _ _ and didn’t say anything else after that. Soon after, Al drifted off, and it was only Ed and Winry on the hill, staring at the sparks being sent up into the sky.  _

_ “It’s almost the first.” He said out of the blue. _

_ “Yeah dummy. It’s  _ **_Aguillan_ ** _. What, did all that alchemy practice scramble your brain?” She scoffed, though had to hide her surprise when Ed didn’t rise to the insult. Instead, he was pensive, and his hand was still stuck in his pocket. “You look dumb with your hand in your pocket.” _

_ He seemed visibly surprised by her comment, and glanced down.  _

_ “Oh.” He flushed a dark red, and hid his face. Winry didn’t have the heart to tease him, it would be too easy. Instead she waited. _

_ He withdrew an apple from his pocket, probably one he got from Mr. Bartelds’s stall.  _

_ “Holding out on us?” _

_ “I just forgot about it that’s all.” He muttered something Winry couldn’t hear. “Do y’ have a knife? Or anything that can cut? I’ll share it with you if you do.” _

_ “Pocketknife work?” Ed nodded. Winry passed the pocketknife Granny had given to her for her birthday over. Ed got to work slicing the apple up. “Why not use alchemy?” _

_ “It makes light, remember gear head? People might see us.” She wanted to argue that no one would see them up on the hill, but  _ **_really_ ** _ did not feel like having to endure an Edward Elric patented shouting match this late at night. He finally got it sliced up, and announced it with a grunt of joy. Standing up, he handed a half of the badly sliced apple to her. _

_ It tasted sweet. _

Winry got up and dusted herself off, heading out for the hill in her memory. As she crested the slope, she wasn’t surprised to find Ed there.

“Hey gear head.” She smiled at the old nickname.

“Hey alchemy freak.” Ed held out an apple to her. “Same old tricks, huh Elric? You haven’t grown up a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” She bit into it, and savored the taste, even as the juice ran down her chin and onto her shirt. 

It tasted just as sweet as she remembered.


	5. January 2nd – March 20th, 1916

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised the exchange rates will be posted each chapter, so here ya go:
> 
> 1 USD = 16.03 AMC (USD appreciates against AMC)  
> 1 AMC = 0.06 USD (AMC depreciates against the US dollar)  
> 1 EUR = 14.29 AMC  
> 1 AMC = 0.07 EUR  
> 1 GBP = 13.51 AMC  
> 1 AMC = 0.074 GBP

_January 2nd, 1916_

* * *

In his defense, Ed did like helping out the people of Resembool, and he liked being away from all the hustle and bustle of Central. 

But he was becoming bored  _ very  _ quickly. When Mustang had first pushed him into that six month sabbatical (that quickly looked like it was going to turn into a sabbatical that encapsulated all of 1916, what with Al’s condition not improving as quickly as they had hoped), he hadn’t expected to actually  _ miss  _ the high-octane violence and action of being in the military. 

But his personal feelings aside, he had jobs to attend to, and a brother to take care of. 

“Ah!” Speaking of… Ed sighed and got up from the couch he had been relaxing on.

“Al?” He called out, poking his head around the corner. Well, he hadn’t been in the kitchen at least. His next thought was that maybe he had fallen upstairs, but he hadn’t heard a loud  _ thump  _ of skin hitting wood, so that wasn’t it either… 

Which really only left one other place, when he thought about it. Walking into the small annex room that had been built at the side of the house, Ed saw Al struggling to stand back up. Swooping in, he acted as a support for his younger brother. 

“Thanks...” Al breathed out, and dusted himself off, clearly irritated by both the dust and with his inability to be fully independent. Ed couldn’t relate all the way, but he  _ could _ empathize. For a few months after they’d been discharged, Ed had still needed help to properly control his arm since his fine and gross motor control skills were all out of whack. 

But even so, that aspect of his rehabilitation had been practically over in the span of a few months since it was mostly just an issue of the nerves not being used to there being actual flesh where his arm was and not metal. Al’s problems on the other hand, all stemmed from malnutrition and all  _ sorts  _ of additional stressors. 

“It’s no problem Al, but remember what we had agreed to?” He asked as he helped Al walk to the discarded wheelchair at the other end of the room. 

“Yes, I remember.” It took a lot out of Ed to not reply to the irritated barb with a snarky comment, but he held himself back. He remembered that the doctors had mentioned that Al would be irritable as he recovered, and to slowly ease him back into normal routines. Major shocks would only increase his irritability and possibly also put him at an increased chance for developing depression. 

That, besides a regression, was the absolute last thing Ed wanted for Al. For Truth’s sake, they finally had their bodies back, and everything was slowly on the mend! Al deserved to be happy… 

So he kept his mouth shut and helped Al into the wheelchair. 

“Do you want any help looking over that?” Ed asked as he was about to leave the room. It had been a  _ long  _ time since he had sat down with an array, let alone sat down to analyze one  _ with  _ Al. He racked his brain trying to figure out how long it had been. 

Probably just before Hughes had been hospitalized come to think of it… 

Ed waited for what felt like an eternity as he waited for Al to speak. 

“The equations for the peroxides, can you look over those first?” He hid a smile before turning around and taking up a seat next to his younger brother. 

* * *

_January 17th, 1916_

* * *

Honestly, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been so surprised at the announcement. But could anyone really blame him? Ed hadn’t expected _Grumman_ of all people to become Führer-President, not when there were several other options that were more well known and likely to kowtow to the Brass' demands than him; and certainly _not_ when both General Armstrong and Colonel Mustang had both played a larger role in the coup than he had. And to think he’d throw both of them under the bus like that… It really made Ed’s blood boil. 

“Oi! Winry, you see the paper yet?!” He had yelled into the kitchen as he stormed back in, newspaper in hand. 

“No, I’ve been working on a new design all morning! What’s the news?” Ed had to hastily undo the crumpled pages so he could shove them in Winry’s face. He waited for a moment so that his fellow blond could absorb the information on the pages before withdrawing them and tossing the whole newspaper to the ground. 

“It’s bullshit, is what it is.” He stated hotly. “I cannot  _ believe  _ Grumman would pull something so… so...” He struggled to give voice to his feelings.

“Snake-like? Weaselly?” She asked, picking up the fallen paper. “Can you  _ really  _ say that though Ed? From what you’ve told me, he didn’t exactly seem to be the kind of person who was… well the most morally upstanding person ever.”

“Yeah, but to throw Armstrong and Mustang to the wolves like that?” He snatched the papers from her and rummaged through them to find the one with the most damning (in his mind) sentence. He pointed at it roughly. “In his  _ commencement  _ speech, Grumman calls Armstrong ‘irreverent to the safety of the citizens of Amestris with more interest in undermining Drachma than building up the country’, and he has the audacity to  _ steal  _ the credit for the coup’s success from Mustang despite not doing anything! Look!” He continued to read: “ ‘For all the credit the young Colonel gets, he would not have been able to achieve the heights he had if it was not for my guidance—’ Does he not even care?” 

“Well, that’s politics for you Ed.” Winry said, gently taking the papers away from him and folding them to look somewhat more presentable. “I really am sorry that this isn’t going the way you wanted, but it wasn’t likely to go any other way. The General and the Colonel aren’t in the best of positions right now, Briggs  _ did  _ run through Central unchecked, a lot of people lost their homes and livelihoods, and they  _ remember  _ that. And while the Colonel was careful to not do that, he’s laid up in the hospital right now, and I think he’s more focused on Ishval than the Führership right now.”

“You’re right.” Ed grumbled. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“Good. You can be as unhappy as you want about it.” She said. “The important thing is that you remember  _ why  _ you’re upset, so that you can explain to people why you think your choices are better.” Her look turned distant. “...We won’t be able to fix anything in this country otherwise.” She muttered. 

“...You’re still scared of the...” He didn’t have the heart to say it. He didn’t need to, because she nodded. 

“When I levelled the gun at Scar that day… I had two choices. I’m still not sure if I picked the right one in the end.” Ed couldn’t say anything to that. Unlike Winry, he could never have the opportunity to face down his parents’ killer. Even though they were both orphans, Ed had never had to live with the knowledge that the person who killed his parents might still be out there.

“If it’s worth anything, I think you made the right choice.” Winry said nothing to that, and turned back to washing the dishes.

* * *

February 3rd, 1916

* * *

There was a part of Al that constantly felt unsatisfied. It was a part of himself that made him feel deeply ashamed, both he and Brother had spent the better part of 4 years working to get their bodies back, and he had the  _ gall _ to feel unsatisfied with what they’d accomplished. 

Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t understand where it was coming from. Just because they had accomplished  _ their  _ goals didn’t mean that there weren’t still things left for them to do. They had a duty to fulfill, responsibilities that they had to claim.

But they were stuck in Resembool for the entire year because  _ Al’s  _ recovery wasn’t going as they expected. The facts of the matter often bit at his thoughts, keeping him awake well into the night. There were other uncomfortable facts beyond their (for now) abandoned responsibilities that irked him though. 

For instance: Brother’s alchemy. He still didn’t know how he’d gotten it back. He’d tried to question him, but had only gotten vague, noncommittal answers. The most he had managed to cudgel together was that it had involved Hohenheim and an array that Brother had described as “simply wrong, worse than the Human Transmutation array”. Those were words that made Al want to strap his older brother down and start up an interrogation, but he held back. It was clear that Ed was still hurting from the unexpected loss of their father (as much as he claimed to hate him, Al knew that there was a part of Ed that genuinely loved Hohenheim as a father, and was probably still in shock over the idea that Hohenheim had sacrificed himself for him) as well as fearful of what might happen to Al since Hohenheim’s deal had indirectly brushed right up against Ed’s own deal with Truth.

Al wasn’t quite so sure about that last bit though. While he hadn’t been there for Hohenheim’s transmutation (at the Gate or otherwise physically present), there  _ wasn’t  _ a precedent for Truth reneging on deals. X was traded for Y, and Y could be traded for X, but Truth wouldn’t step in and attempt to take away Y or X just because a third party had interfered with the deal between the original person and Truth. 

Deals were always one on one when it came to Truth. After all, if multiple people could be implicated with one deal, then he and Ed should have arrived at the Gate at the same time when they had attempted to bring their mother back, but that hadn’t happened. Two people had attempted the one transmutation, yes, and that was probably why Al’s gate had been connected to Ed’s, but their  _ deals  _ hadn’t been the same.

He clenched his fist tightly, feeling the fingernails dig into his palm. He had lost his whole body, he had nearly  _ died  _ in the process, and would have died if not for his brother’s quick thinking and his father’s habit of collecting things on his travels. In comparison, Ed had only lost a leg, even though it was still the same transmutation. The exchange had been different. 

Even beyond the two of them, it was clear that Truth made individualized deals, at least when it came to the realm of human transmutation. Teacher had lost her womb and other organs, and Colonel Mustang had lost his eyesight. Again, same transmutation, different result. 

That last one was put a bit of a wrench in his hypothesis though. Al hadn’t been… well,  _ aware  _ for the time when Mustang had revealed that he was blind and the circumstances behind it, and he hadn’t had the chance to ask about it. But he  _ did  _ recall a similar situation back when he and Brother had spent their days trying to find information on the Stone:

It had been a butler, trying human transmutation to resurrect the young lady of the house he served. He had lost his eyes in the process. While it did fit within his theory (Truth makes individualized deals, and therefore Brother was worrying over nothing), it made him wonder what was the criteria for taking away certain body parts.

Mustang and the butler had both performed human transmutation, granted Mustang had been forced into it, which  _ might  _ have been the defining factor, but that only made Al wonder  _ how  _ Truth would know that. Granted, it clearly knew  _ everything _ , but Al couldn’t imagine that mere  _ circumstance  _ could cause the supernatural entity to behave so erratically. 

Human emotions weren’t exactly things that held any scientific weight, at least not in alchemy. Array X for Process W always gave Product A no matter what emotional state you were in. So then, why would Truth only take away  _ eyesight  _ for one person, but the  _ eyes  _ for another? 

But then he remembered: Pride had been with them in the chamber. Brother had mentioned that Pride and Mustang had come through nearly at the same time, but not at the same time. Again, more credence for his theory to get Brother to stop fussing so much about a phenomenon that would likely never come to pass. But the more important detail was that Pride had been on the verge of falling apart, his container nearly destroyed.

It was like a distorted mirror version of what had happened to them. Two people attempted the same transmutation at once, and one bore more of the burden than the other. In Mustang and Pride’s case, Pride had been the one to take up most of the toll: his body falling apart. Mustang had taken up Ed’s role in the equation, leaving the encounter with only his eyesight lost. 

Triumphant, Al stood up unsteadily to write his findings down on the chalkboard Winry had lent them for their alchemy research. As he stood, he buckled slightly, having to grip onto the board’s frame to avoid falling. Al frowned at the way his legs were still stick-like and emaciated. They were better than before, that was for sure, but there were days when he wished he was still in the armor.

If he was still inside the metal suit, he wouldn’t have to worry about falling down because he lacked calcium in his bones, wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt in case he fell, wouldn’t have Brother and Winry and Granny fussing over him, treating him like he’d break every two seconds. 

But then that would be like spitting on all of their hard work. 

Yes, he was still weak, but he wouldn’t remain that way forever. And yes,  _ maybe _ he would be weaker than average and never  _ quite  _ return to top form, but that was okay too. Medicine was getting better every day, and he could always learn different styles to protect himself. He wasn’t limited to only the things he had  _ already  _ learned. There was an entire  _ world  _ of disciplines that he hadn't even explored yet.

That last thought brought up images of May Chang in his mind. Sure she was petite, and likely not in the best shape given the fact that her clan was in poverty, and she had been working to the bone almost every day of her life, but she was nimble and quick, and most of all,  _ effective.  _ Her strikes might not have packed a punch on their own, but augmented with alkahestry and the ability to land many of them within a short time, that didn’t matter.

He was going to learn from her example.

He smiled to himself, and settled back down in the chair, making sure to go slowly, so as to not rattle something and bring Brother barging into the small annex room. As soon as he felt himself touch the thin cloth covering of the seat, Al allowed himself to drop down as heavily as he could onto the chair, not that it would do much, since Al didn’t exactly weigh much anymore. He tried not to feel too annoyed with having to use the chair in the house, because at least it was actual  _ proof  _ that he was slowly getting better, that one day soon in the future he wouldn't need his crutches  _ or  _ his wheelchair.

Rolling out of the room, he tried to locate where Ed was. He wasn’t in the living room, clear enough from the lack of a shouting match between either Ed and Winry or Ed and Granny during the past few minutes. He wasn’t likely to be in their shared bedroom, given that it was still the afternoon, and obviously, he hadn’t walked into the annex room at any point.

So that meant he was outside, which narrowed down his options, but they still weren’t all that helpful either. Since it was a Thursday, that meant he would be working for Mrs. Rolleman at her farm at this time. If he wasn’t at the farm, then he was probably at the valley, taking a break while observing the natural world around him.

Rolling into the living room, where Winry was tinkering with an automail arm, the diamond-tipped saw she wielded cutting through a chunk of titanium, making an unholy noise as Al raised his voice to call out to her. “I’m going to look for Brother!”

“Tell him that we’re going to have stew for dinner when you find him!”

“I will!”

* * *

_ March 19th, 1916 _

* * *

Seeing the scenery pass by on the trip to Central was watching the transformation from an idyllic country town to a city that was the crowning jewel of urbanization. The outside world’s colors slowly darkened with smoke and soot, emerald greens darkening to a dull buckthorn shade. The fields of golden wheat were slowly replaced by black asphalt, homely farms and wooden general stores taken over by concrete and brick. 

As the train rolled into the station, it trembled slightly, and Ed felt the floor shift underneath him, his bags starting to slide away from their places on the opposite seat. Hastily reaching over to grab them, Ed was thrown headfirst into the seat as the train came to a sharp stop and righted itself. 

Groaning to himself, Ed dusted himself off, and gathered his bags. Taking a quick glance of his surroundings, it looked as though he had been one of a few passengers to be so jostled, most people on the train had barely seemed fazed by the rocking. “Still, it wouldn’t kill them to have issued a warning...” Ed muttered to himself as he disembarked. He handed his ticket over to the ticket master on duty, and contemplated the scene he saw before him. 

The station was better than when he had last seen it. The lighting had been restored back to its former glory, and the trash had all been cleaned up. Judging from the slightly oversized tracks though, no one had quite taken the time to fix the railroad gauges yet, so that was probably what caused the rocking on the train. “Hey, why hasn’t anyone got on fixing the track yet? Seems like it’d be an easy fix for an alchemist.” He asked as the ticket master handed the stub back. 

“State Alchemists are all busy in other sectors of the city.” He explained. “They’re usin’ ‘em to bolster up the army here until more recruits come in from Basic and the Academy to fill out the losses.”

“What about those that are injured?” The ticket master shook his head.

“Many of them aren’t returning to active service. Wouldn’t blame them, no one wants to realize that the people who are supposed to be your comrades can easily stab you in the back.”

“I get it now.” Ed’s eyes were still fixed on the track though. “What about the civilian alchemists?”

“ _ What  _ civilian alchemists?” The man snorted. “They’ve all fucked off down to other cities before the military could snap ‘em up.” Ed made an understanding noise in the back of his throat. So that explained just about everything that was going on with why the  _ train tracks, _ some of the most important features of transport in a city like Central, were still broken. Smirking to himself, Ed handed the guy a 1,000 cenz note and a 600 cenz coin. 

“Thanks for the info.” Circling back around to the train once he was out of sight of the line of people and the ticket master, Ed crouched down and tried to assess the tracks. The Amestrian standard gauge was 1,435 mm, but that was often ignored out in the peripheries. Resembool’s own (neglected) station had used to use a track that was 1,458 mm— the Eastern Gauge people called it— These tracks looked like they weren’t that wide, instead they seemed more like the still broad, but slimmer 1,445 mm Cretan tracks he had seen while on the trip down to Table City. 

Just as he was about to clap and transmute the tracks back to the proper width, he remembered something important. 

_ “You see young Edward, the tracks here in Kastell Station are narrower than the rest of the tracks in Central Province. Only 1,300 mm.” Struggling to not bristle at the mention of his age, Ed instead asked Armstrong this: _

_ “Why are they built narrow then?” _

_ “You see, the train tracks were initially built by talented alchemists of the Armstrong family _ — _ ” Which explained why he knew about that in the first place or bothered to bring it up _ — _ “Who were used to the private network of the Armstrong family’s trains. Since the alchemists had volunteered to do it for free, the city never asked them to change it. So the trains in Kastell have always had to fit the narrow tracks.”  _

Nearly smacking himself for forgetting that, Ed clapped and transmuted the tracks to their correct size, watching as blue lightning wrapped itself around the tracks and slowly spread down the tracks, metal bending and warping, the excess lacing itself back into the ties or staking itself into the ground. Dusting off his hands, Ed smirked. “Haven’t lost my touch yet.” Swinging his suitcase so that it hung against his back, he made his way back to the city proper, keeping out of sight of any people. 

As he walked, he noted that the station wasn’t the only thing recovering nicely, the city itself was looking much more… well,  _ city like  _ than when he had last seen it. As he crossed the streets, he nearly had to stop and do a double-take. 

An Ishvalan owned store (or rather, a stall) was out in the open on the streets of Central. It even had a decent customer base too, with many people crowding around the small stall, and most of the people there weren’t even Ishvalan, at least from Ed could see. 

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day.” He whispered to himself as he kept walking on. The streets in this part of town were familiar, the scenery much like an old friend. He had walked this route many times before, when he wanted to drag his feet in getting back to Mustang to report back to him. He snickered, recalling the times when Al had basically dragged him through the streets of Central to the astonishment of many of the people, who would gape and gawk at a giant suit of armor lugging around a blonde who was shouting about “not wanting to report in to the bastard colonel!”

Coming to a stop at the familiar intersection at 3rd and Flachau, Ed realized that they must have been putting all the State Alchemists to work specifically on this project. The front of the complex was mostly restored now, most of it done probably by Armstrong and Inox judging by the designs. The pavilion was still being rebuilt though, and he could see some familiar faces running out and about. 

Armstrong was busy lugging around stacks and stacks of what looked to be marble, Schwan (the Glass Alchemist) was up in the “nest” of a tall metal structure, working on adding and reinforcing windows, even Geste had dragged himself out of retirement (or maybe he was just working on a civilian contract), to redo lighting. Letting himself admire the work of his (technically) colleagues, for a few minutes (after all, there was always more about alchemy he could stand to learn) Ed walked into the (more or less) restored building. 

Reception looked the same as it always was, that is to say, it was way too understaffed, and the people that  _ were  _ here were mostly just idling and not really doing their jobs. Ed could understand and sympathize, he had done all he could to avoid (what had seemed like at the time), inane missions and tasks from Mustang back when they had been stationed out East. 

“I’m looking for Colonel Mustang.” He stated confidently as he strolled up to the desk. The girl looked him up and down, a sigh on her lips. Clearly she didn’t recognize him. 

“Sir, I’m afraid that you can’t waltz in here and demand to see a military officer willy-nilly—”

“Hold it Erica.” A woman walking in from the hallway Ed knew led to the cafeteria said, dumping a tray of sandwiches onto the counter. “You’re Major Elric, right?” Ed nodded. The woman paled a little, and performed a small hand sign that Ed would have missed if he hadn’t been looking straight at her. It looked as though his reputation preceded him. “Then the Colonel is in his office.”

“It didn’t get blown up in the fighting?” Ed asked.

“No it did,” Ed could only  _ imagine  _ Mustang’s elation upon finding that out, what with the man’s famous hatred of paperwork and all, “But it was nearer the front of the complex, so it was rebuilt fairly quickly.” Ed nodded, then took his leave, not wanting to stress out the poor woman any more than he already had. 

(Maybe she was one of the lower rank soldiers that often got caught up in the cross-fire of Ed and Mustang’s arguments?)

As he walked off, he heard the girl from earlier (Erica, his mind supplied) protesting the woman’s decision. 

“We can’t just let some guy waltz right in!”

“Erica, listen. I know you’re new here, but I’ve been working this job for a good 5 years now, and  _ everyone  _ who remembers the 1914 Incident will have told you the  _ exact  _ same thing. That man gets a pass. He confirms that he’s Major Elric? Let him go and let the higher-ups sort out the mess.”

Okay so  _ maybe  _ he owed her an apology gift or something, but that could wait. He walked down the by now familiar halls, which made him realize that the repairs really had been done well, if someone had given him a picture of Central Military HQ’s hallways before and after the Promised Day, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. 

Reaching Mustang’s office, he readied his automail leg, and kicked the door open, sending the heavy oak slamming into the wall. 

“I’m  _ back _ Bastard!” He grinned, walking in with confidence. He glanced around the office, Havoc and Breda had been in the middle of making paper planes, and were now staring at the wall like they’d find the answers to the universe. Fuery looked like he had gotten a heart attack, and Falman had dropped the stack of papers he’d been carrying. 

Hawkeye was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Mustang. “Oi, where the fuck are Hawkeye and Mustang?” His question jolted the men out of their stupors, and they all snapped to stare at him like he was a ghost. It was kinda creepy to be honest.

“Boss?! You’re back  _ way  _ earlier than we expected!” Havoc slid off of the table-top and hoisted himself up with his crutches, that Ed had only just now noticed. “The Chief and Hawkeye are in the annex room, something about the whole celebration business goin’ down tomorrow, are you back for that?” Ed blinked. Havoc talked at a mile a minute at the best of times, but clearly having gone months without hearing the man had reduced Ed’s ability to comprehend his motormouth tendencies to near nothing. 

“Er, yeah, I’m here for the ceremony, Mustang still has me frozen when it comes to active duty though.”

“As I very well should.” The familiar voice came from the back room. 

“So you finally appear. High time you did.” Ed smirked. 

“I would have come out earlier if I had noticed you Fullmetal, but then again, you  _ are  _ a pip-squeak.”

“Not any more Colonel Bastard! I’m  _ your  _ height now!” Mustang squinted at him, as though he couldn’t tell that they were at eye level. Or maybe he was trying desperately not to acknowledge it. 

“No, you’re still the annoying little pipsqueak I tried to boot out of the military but who just kept hanging on.” Mustang drawled. The others in the room burst into laughter at the familiar banter, and Ed had to hold himself from decking Mustang in his stupid face.

Not that he had to try too hard. The familiar atmosphere was almost calming in a way, soothing in a way that he didn’t realize he had missed back in Resembool. Yes, Winry and Granny and Al were important to him, and he’d prioritize them over anyone and any- _ thing  _ else…

But he’d expanded his social circle, and he had other people he valued too, including one annoying bastard and his equally annoying team. 

* * *

_ March 20th, 1916 - 1st Anniversary of the Promised Day  _

* * *

Ed woke up at the crack of dawn, and spent what felt like 2 hours but was mostly likely just 30 minutes or so just… staring out of the dorm window. The sun was slowly rising over Central, with MPs slowly starting to flood the streets and tired soldiers rousing themselves from sleep to head down into the cafeteria and get some coffee into their systems.

Back in Resembool it was likely that Winry had stayed up working on some automail design or the other, and Al had kept himself awake, burying himself in alchemical research and physical therapy. 

He rolled out of bed, ignoring the uniform that sat on a hanger in the open closet, with a note taped to it. Whoever it was from should’ve known better than to try and get him into a uniform, because no matter if he was still tied to the military or not, he was  _ not  _ going to wear the uniform. It would be like admitting that the military basically owned him, that he wasn’t still fighting against corruption in the armed forces. He had an image people expected him to upkeep,  _ and  _ he had his own pride and morals to consider.

Out of curiosity, he looked at the note to see who it was from. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t sent from someone he knew in the military, after all, he had lost track of the many,  _ many  _ times Mustang had sent him an order, report, or update via courier where the handwriting had been  _ completely  _ different to Mustang’s own sharp scrawl. He scanned it for any identifying marks. 

At the bottom, in blood-red wax, was the one symbol every Amestrian could identify. The Amestrian dragon, an olive branch in its mouth, a sword in its tail. The symbol of the Führer.

A note from Grumman then. He skimmed the contents.  _ Blah blah blah… Lieutenant Colonel Elric _ — _ wait, what?  _ He checked the epaulets and blanched. Sitting cleanly on the shoulder were the 4 bars and two stars of a Lieutenant Colonel, not the single star of a Major. His eyes darted back to the letter, unsure of what Grumman was playing at. 

_ Lieutenant Colonel Elric, you are advised, but not required to, wear the uniform that has been provided for you. As per your extended leave from formal military activity, your promotional ceremony was skipped, and your rank only ceremonially promoted. You will be at the venue at 1100 hours. _

If that wasn’t an order for him to wear the damn uniform, Ed would eat his cloak. Still, he hadn’t achieved his reputation by  _ following  _ orders, even if they were thinly veiled threats.

(He ignored the memory of caving to Bradley’s orders, he had caved under duress because Winry was in danger. Grumman didn’t have the political clout or reach to harm her, she was safe in Resembool, far from the scheming claws of Grumman and his ilk) 

Ripping the letter up, Ed stomped out of the dormitory, not even stopping when anyone called out to him. 

* * *

He met up with Mustang and the team in a small annex room underneath the stage Grumman had set up in front of Central Headquarters.

“I see that not even the Führer can get you to bend the knee and wear the uniform Fullmetal.” Mustang said tiredly.

“He was the commander out East, he should know my M.O. by now.” Ed snorted brusquely. Mustang threw up his hands.

“Well, it’s not my problem any longer.” The older man said good-naturedly. 

“It’s never  _ been  _ your problem bastard, don’t start pretending it ever was. Hell,  _ you’re  _ the one who told me to not bother with the uniform in the first place!” Ed jabbed at Mustang, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Was I?” The black-haired alchemist asked, a finger on his chin, seemingly trying to remember the occasion. “Hmn… I guess I was.”

“Is your mind going already old man?” Ed sneered. 

“Says the brat that gets his brains knocked about an average of every 6 seconds. No, it’s  _ my  _ mind that’s going. Really now Fullmetal.”

“Look here bastard, I wouldn’t have even gotten all banged up if you’d just done your job—”

“Or if you didn’t go traipsing off into danger every time I sent you on a mission because of some small town dispute or the other, I think that would have helped too—”

“Just acknowledge that your plans are shitty you morally corrupt—”

“ _ My  _ plans are shitty? Says the brat who’s too  _ short _ sighted to even come  _ up  _ with a plan that’s even half as good my own—”

“Because I’d want to make my plans  _ anything  _ like yours Colonel Bastard-”

“You only  _ wish  _ you had even a speck of my planning acumen, but then again that’d require you to actually have to grow a little...”

“Say that again you jackas—” The bickering made Ed have to fight a smirk off of his face.  _ This  _ was where that feeling had come from yesterday, the by now familiar rut of bickering and insulting, as Mustang gave as good as he got, the fond exasperation on Hawkeye’s face as she contemplated whether or not she should grab her gun to get them to stop, Havoc and Breda’s captivated looks as they followed their superior officers’ bickering closely, Fuery and Falman doing their best to hide their snickers… 

“That’s enough Sirs.” Hawkeye’s voice ended the bickering decisively, and Ed smirked at Mustang, glad to have gotten the last jab in. The other alchemist rolled his eyes, but Ed knew that he was coming up with a list of insults to get back at Ed with later. “The ceremony will be starting soon.” She turned to Mustang, “Will Colonel Hughes be in attendance?”

“No, he’s still recovering from muscle atrophy. Gracia and Elicia will be, however. So expect lots of camera flashing.” That sent up a groan from Havoc.

“Ugh, can I _please,_ ** _please_** opt out then Chief? I didn’t sign up to be photographed with _these._ ” Havoc said, gesturing slightly with his hands at his crutches. 

“Chin up Havoc, if you can survive a homunculus stab to the spine and then my sloppy cauterization, you can survive a little girl taking pictures.”

“It’s really not the pictures themselves I’m worried about Chief.” Havoc said, shifting the crutches so he was more comfortable. “It’s the people who will  _ see  _ those pictures.” By the annoyed expressions on everyone else’s faces, they’d heard Havoc espouse this point before. 

“Look, Jean, buddy. I don’t think a hot babe is ever gonna see those photos. Hughes’ll probably put ‘em in an album or something, where it’ll be buried under a sackful of dust. Calm down.” Breda said, hitting the tall blond on the back. 

“If it’s just nerves Havoc, I have some Hydroxyzine on me.” Falman offered. 

“It’s not nerves.” Havoc said, a small smile on his face. “But I guess I am blowing this a bit out of proportion. ‘Ts probably just because I feel a bit… sensitive. You know?” Everyone suddenly had a knowing look on their faces, but politely didn’t ask Havoc to expound on it.

“Oh yeah, Havoc, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’d you manage to get back on your feet so quickly?” Ed asked. “Took me a whole year to recover from automail surgery.”

“Well, I didn’t need automail, now did I Boss?” Havoc grinned, wiggling his right leg. “Once my spine got itself back in working order—” _Once Mustang had Marcoh use a Philosopher’s Stone on your spinal cord_ — “The nerves there kinda just woke back up again. Felt like a _killer_ case of pins and needles though, yeesh. Lucky for me, it had only been a few months since I had gotten injured, so my therapy went pretty smoothly.”

“That’s enough chit-chat I think.” Mustang cut in. “Ceremony’s starting.” He rapped lightly above him, prompting everyone to strain their ears to hear the opening speech.

“I welcome you all, citizens of Amestris—” Ed identified the speaker as Grumman (not that it realistically could have been anyone else), and he rolled his eyes— “In the past year, we have experienced many new things. A change in government—”  _ A coup you mean. Not even a coup at your behest, a coup you stole the credit for!  _ Ed chanced a look at Mustang and Hawkeye, who’s visages were blankly neutral. An indescribable feeling welled up in him, it was a bitter mix of rage and disappointment, and resentment, and simple  _ numbness _ . “Now, a year later, we have emerged from our trials better and stronger as a nation for them. I, your Führer—President, George Grumman, am glad to present to you the heroes of that fraught day. Please welcome them onto the stage.”

“That’ll be our cue.” Mustang whispered. “Smiles on men, you’re entertainers tonight, not soldiers.” He opened the trapdoor, and started the climb up. Ed waited for Hawkeye to follow, but she pushed him forwards. 

“Woah, Hawkeye, why am I—”

“It’s in order of rank. Lieutenant Colonel, remember?” Ed swallowed, and nodded, hurrying slightly to catch up to Mustang. The older man had evidently paused a little, knowing that Ed would have been stalled. 

“Thanks for the  _ warning. _ ” Ed hissed. 

“I thought it would have been obvious.” Mustang replied blandly as they continued to walk in a straight line. “Now, keep your big mouth  _ shut  _ Fullmetal, or People’s Alchemist or not, I  _ will _ court-marital you.” Mustang pushed the big doors at the end open, and Ed was greeted with  _ light.  _

The sun streamed in, making him want to blink rapidly as tears sprang to his eyes. He quickly adjusted though, and he had to hold back an outraged gasp as he saw Major General Armstrong (or did  _ she  _ get a promotion too, speaking of which shouldn’t  _ Mustang  _ have gotten a promotion too? But he would’ve rubbed Ed’s face in it as soon as he arrived, hell, he would’ve corrected him on his rank if that were true…) crossing the stage, her ancestral sword at her hip. 

She stopped short of the center, taking a step back and turning to face the audience. Ed was only just  _ barely  _ saved from slamming directly into Mustang by realizing that if  _ she  _ was doing that, then Mustang would have to as well. 

“Good save.” Mustang snickered. 

“Shut up bastard.” Ed snapped under his breath, settling into parade rest. The sun seemed somehow brighter from this angle as he stood, red coat like blood standing out against the white backdrop. 

(He felt like he was back at the fight, his clothes in tatters as the sun beat down on all of them, felt like everything was too loud and too bright. Felt like he was  _ trapped _ —) 

“Eyes forwards Fullmetal.” He was jolted out of his memories by a sharp, but quiet and…  _ Understanding  _ rebuke from Mustang. Nodding by inclining his head forwards a little, Ed shifted, arranging his expression to look defiant and uncaring. 

His eyes found purchase on Mrs. Bradley and… Pride, no, Selim. Grumman was still talking, but Ed continued to tune him out. He kept a fixed watch on the two, even though Selim didn’t seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary.

“And I am glad to present these men and women with awards for their service to the country.” Grumman’s sentence burst into his awareness, ambushing him in its sudden clarity. Ed blinked as the crowd erupted into applause. 

“First, I believe this is long overdue—” Ed already knew what he was going to say, even if he didn’t, the slight nudge from Mustang, or the tenseness in Mrs. Bradley’s shoulders would have given it away. “Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Please, accept your award.” 

The first step felt like he was sinking in quicksand. The next felt like his leg had been transmuted to lead,  _ both  _ of them. The third wasn’t any easier than the first two, it had felt like someone was tying a noose around his neck.

_ I’m not your damn show pony.  _

But did he really have a choice in the matter? He rejoined the military for a  _ reason _ , and he couldn’t allow  _ anything  _ to stand in his way… 

Even if it felt like he’d choke doing it. He’d done worse after all. He’d  _ survived  _ worse than a medal ceremony. 

The next few steps felt like an eternity, not helped by the way the crowd went silent. As he stood on the raised dais, he noticed that Armstrong and Mustang’s teams weren’t the only soldiers present. He spied Rebecca Catalina below him, and some other soldiers he wasn’t quite so familiar with. 

“Thank you Führer Grumman.” He said, accepting the award (a pin of a silver Amestrian dragon with rubies for eyes) onto his cloak. 

The crowd cheered. 

The words felt like ash on his tongue. 


	6. June 5th – November 30th 1916

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with the aftermath of discovering that what Ed and Al transmuted that day wasn't Trisha, which means grave digging and messing with skeletons, if that disturbs you, you can skip that part (it starts from October 3rd, 1916 and ends at November 30th, 1916).

_June 5th, 1916_

* * *

“Ed said that he didn’t see you or Sig at the ceremony.” Winry said as she set down the plate of food on the small table. 

“What can I say? I’m not one for ostentatiousness.” Izumi laughed. “Besides, what is there for me to be rewarded for? For doing the right thing? Getting caught up in something that was  _ far  _ bigger than me? Those aren’t actions that should be rewarded… Though I’m certain you knew that already.”

“I think he wanted to see a familiar face is all, or rather, a familiar face that wasn’t forced to be there.”

“There are a lot of things that boy needs to learn.” Izumi said, her gaze fixed on the window, where they could see Ed and Al talking with Sig, laughing and trading light blows all at the same time. “I had thought he wouldn’t let himself be used by the military again. I suppose my absence was a way of telling him that I didn’t approve.”

“...Ed says he has a goal to accomplish before he leaves. Al agrees with him, but he doesn’t want to join the military.”

“He was always the smarter of the two.” Izumi quipped. Then sighed. “A part of it… I see them as my sons in a way.” She said, a hand travelling down to caress her stomach. “I don’t like seeing them hurt.”

“No matter what they did, I think they’d get hurt at some point.”

“I would still prefer it if they at least tried to delay it for as long as possible.” Winry smiled wistfully, staring at the two boys— no,  _ men _ , as they enjoyed the company of their pseudo-father figure. 

“If they did, I don’t think they would be Ed and Al.”

* * *

_October 3rd, 1916_

* * *

Standing in front of the ruins that were the former Elric family home was a sobering experience. But, if Ed really was going to go through with his plans, he would have to confront his decisions and mistakes one final time.

And what better way to put an end to this chapter of their lives than by finishing all the preparations on the day he and Al had made their biggest mistake of their lives? Grimly, Ed pushed the head of the shovel into the ground. 

“I keep telling you that you could just use alchemy for this Brother.” Al sighed, his own (useless to be honest, but he had wanted it, so Granny had given it to him) shovel laying in his lap. 

“It wouldn’t feel right.” Ed argued, using his foot to test if it was  _ really _ wedged into the ground, or if he’d knock himself on his ass the second he tried lifting it up. Seeing that the head barely budged, he took his foot off and yanked up, bringing a load of dirt with the now freed shovel.

“Then explain why  _ I  _ get a pass.” Al said dryly, gesturing to his own pile of dirt, sitting in a neat, compacted cube. 

“You’re injured, Al, you wouldn’t be able to keep doing this for  _ hours. _ ”

“And neither can you. You could always ask Winry to help.” A silence permeated the air for a few minutes after that, only punctuated by Ed’s pants and the soft thuds of the dirt hitting the ground. 

“You know why we can’t ask for help with this.” Al sighed, but he didn’t argue. “We made our beds, we have to lie in ‘em Al.”

“I know, I know Brother. I didn’t say that I exactly disagreed, but you made a promise with her. To not leave her out of the loop, not again.” Ed paused in his digging.

“I’ll make it up to her later.”

“Well, I suppose she is your girlfriend, not mine.” Al quipped, causing Ed to go red and lose his balance, which sent him flailing and unbalanced, into the hole. 

“I don’t remember you being this snarky before.” Ed groused as he picked himself up. “What, did getting your body back immediately punt you into puberty? Actually wait, that’s a really good question,  _ did  _ you go through pu—” A crackle, then a giant hand wrapped itself around Ed’s mouth. He looked up to see a bemused Al having flung himself to the ground.

“1. That’s just gross Brother, 2. Wouldn't it be my body that went through puberty, not my soul? So I wouldn’t even know if my body did go through puberty or not.” Ed made a series of muffled noises behind the dirt hand, and gesticulated in various directions wildly as he tried to make his point around the mouthful of dirt. “Brother. You have alchemy.  _ Please. _ ” Ed smirked from behind the hand, and made his motions more erratic. “ _ Brother. _ ” Okay, from that level of exasperation, Ed knew to knock it off, lest his wonderful younger brother attempt to transmute his old wheelchair frame into a staff to knock him on the head with.

(Which he had done. On various occasions. All of which resulted in Ed being mercilessly mocked by Winry and Granny as he was being patched up by them.) 

Clapping his hands together and pressing them to the dirt, Ed watched as the blue lightning slowly covered the full dimensions of the sculpture and slowly deconstructed it, then reformed it midair so that the dirt all fell down into the hole, albeit to the side in one clump instead of as a blanket. “So all it takes for you to use the expedited option is threats. I think I’ll keep that on file for later.”

“I think I know why that Chang girl likes you so much.” Ed grumbled. “Her first instinct is to go for threats and violence too.”

“What can I say, it’s probably younger sibling solidarity.”

“Against  _ who  _ exactly?”

“Well certainly not Ling.”

“Why not the pampered bastard?!”

“Do I  _ really  _ need to outline why that wouldn’t be a good idea?” At Ed’s incredulous look (seriously, what did Ling have that Ed didn’t? The ability to be body snatched by a homunculus? Because in Ed’s book at least that wasn’t exactly a  _ positive  _ attribute...) “Brother. Ling is due to rise to the throne of Xing in less than a year. By that time he’ll be the Emperor of Xing, AKA the person May will have to answer to  _ personally  _ as part of her duties as Head of Clan  _ and _ her duties as  _ his  _ **_heir apparent_ ** . As for me… Well, I just got my body back, I don’t want to lose it to Lan Fan.”

“Oh riiight. I forgot that jerk was going to become Emperor.” Ed smacked his fist into his palm. “We should send him a gift, actually, no, before we do that I need to know if he  _ actually  _ went ahead and decided to immortalize me in Xing as ‘that Amestrian who fed the Emperor a boot filled with floor blood.’ That’ll decide if I send him a present.” Ed declared.

“You… You fed Ling a  _ boot  _ filled with  _ blood. _ ” Al’s eyebrows were in serious danger of nearly flying right off his face, and that would be a shame. Al had Mom’s eyebrows, the slender ones that made him look like even  _ more  _ of a scholar than he was already. 

“We were  _ starving _ , and besides, it wasn’t  _ filled  _ with it, just a little soaked. Being inside Gluttony, honestly, we could have eaten worse than leather and blood.” 

“Oh, this was when you were trapped in Gluttony. Suddenly I feel a lot better about your sanity Brother.” Ed was about to retort, when he took a step forwards, and the dirt underneath him gave way. 

“Brother!” Ed coughed, the dirt and dust particles having gotten in his lungs. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Just got a bit dirty is all! Anyways, I think I found what we were looking for!” He glanced down just to make sure and— 

Black bones, ones belonging to a man and not their beloved mother.

Yeah, this was what they’d been looking for. Al’s gold-hazel irises peeked over the rim of the hole. 

“You’re sure?”

“Not completely, I mean, it looks like what I remember from when Granny and I dug it up, but I want to make sure.”

“Well, in that case...” Al disappeared from view, and Ed heard some rustling before Al reappeared, a scrap of paper in hand that he waved at Ed. “What bones do you see?”

“Skull’s in here—”

“Whole?”

“Well, it’s all here, but the mandible and cranium are separated. Uh, I see the vertebrae, and the ribs, no scapula or clavicle, or approximations there of.”

“All the ribs?” Ed paused and counted. 

“Oh… There're more ribs here than normal, but it all looks like it came from the same body!”

“Then the creature that gets transmuted— the extras must have merged with other bones, remember how it looked all distended and distorted?” Oh, he  _ remembered _ all right… “How many extras?”

“It’s an odd number, so one or more were probably lost or decomposed! But there’s 31 in here! I also found the arms and legs, they’re pretty smashed up, so we won’t get everything out of here.”

“Do they look fused to you?”

“Yeah, those  _ do not  _ belong on a normal human skeleton. But I think that’s all I have Al!” There was the sound of shuffling papers.

“Okay, so now you’re going to test composition! You remember what right?”

“Yeah, hydroxyapatite, with a Ca:P ratio of 1.37–1.87, some silicon, carbonate, zinc for the stuff that wasn’t collagen, and mostly calcium and biological apatites for the stuff that was collagen.” The specifics had all been taken from Al’s charts at the hospital. They figured that if they were going to go looking for bones that had survived a trip through the Gate, then they wanted a baseline to compare it to. Al’s own records helped establish said baseline, after all, bones that went through the Gate were bones that went through the Gate.

“Don’t forget to account for the bone ash and extra carbon from the burning!”

“Got it!” Clapping his hands together (and being  _ very  _ thankful that he had kept the habit of wearing gloves), Ed placed them on the charred bone. The alchemical energy flowed over the bone like a blanket, covering it with blue lightning. He halted the deconstruction process almost as soon as it began, the atomic properties making themselves clear. 

“It fits the profile, give or take a few impurities and inclusions.” Dusting his hands off, Ed jumped up and grabbed the rim of the hole, dragging himself back up. “Go ahead and bring ‘em up.”

Al nodded, clapped his hands and touched the ground, raising the bones on a dirt platform, which Ed quickly jumped over to pick up, a bag thrown his way from Al. Gathering them carefully as to not damage them further, Ed jumped back over and Al lowered the platform. 

“One last stop for today, and then we’re good to go.” Their task finished, Ed helped Al back up, and they started walking to their destination.

* * *

Resembool Cemetery wasn’t very neatly kept. Which was understandable, since most people tended to bury their loved ones in plots of unused land on their property, or in an ancestral mausoleum. It also meant that people didn’t come in to check if there was suddenly a new tomb or two added to the motley collection.

“It feels a little wrong just dumping him in here.” Al confessed as he dug a hole using alchemy. 

“Yeah, but we don’t really have a choice. Besides, we couldn’t let him just… rot there, he deserves a proper burial.”

“I wonder who he was.” A brother, a friend, a father? The possibilities were so numerous. 

“Maybe one day we’ll find out.” Laying the bones in the hole, Ed closed the hole with his own demonstration of alchemy. “At least this way he won’t be forgotten entirely. You can do the honors Al.” He said, dragging a flat stone over to the freshly overturned dirt.

Al clapped his hands and laid them onto the stone, crude letters (but still better made than Ed’s any day) carved themselves into the slate. 

_ To The Unknown Man: _

_ May You Live in Peace, Looking Down On Your Loved Ones. _

“I’d say that looks pretty good.” Ed said, pride filling his voice. 

“Well… It was the least we could do. We should get going now, your excuse about the both of us being out doing work won’t hold up for too much longer now, and it’ll collapse in on itself if Granny decides to go asking around.”

“Oh quit worrying Al, she won’t ask around!” The  _ look  _ Al gave him nearly caused him to reconsider his words… But  _ nah _ , what was the worst that could happen from their decision to skive off work?

* * *

_November 30th, 1916_

* * *

There was a part of Al that wished to stay in Resembool forever. He knew that that desire was more than a little selfish, but he couldn’t help it. Resembool was where he had grown up, where he had experienced some of the most important moments of his life.

At the same time, Central occupied the same sort of vague, ill-defined space in his memories. It was a place of friends and family, a place of new beginnings. The place where their lives had gone full circle. He didn’t glance out the windows on the train, he’d had enough of doing that the last few times he’d  _ been  _ on a train. No, this time he observed the people. Winry and Ed, who sat across from him, both saying that it was because “Al needed the space more”, as though it wasn’t obvious that the two of them just wanted to be near each other. 

(Then again, both his Brother and Winry could be  _ extraordinarily  _ dense when the situation called for it, so maybe they actually believed their excuses) 

Winry was asleep, her head lolling onto Ed’s shoulder. His brother had attempted to maneuver her off of him, but had given up seeing as she would end up back in the same position mere moments later anyways. Al wondered if Ed even noticed the light blush dusting his cheeks. Probably not in all honesty, and if Al called attention to it, Ed would only start flailing around to deny it, which would wake Winry up and earn them  _ both  _ smacks to the head with wrenches. 

So he turned his attention to the other passengers. He saw a couple, all bunched together in one compartment, of people dressed in their dress blues. Probably a bunch of young recruits, seeing as older (or simply more experienced) members of the military would take the Military trains to their destinations, or go in their civvies. He noted that one of them had a silver chain dangling out of the pocket. Alphonse entertained the notion that it might belong to the famous silver pocket watch given to State Alchemists, but then State Alchemists would  _ never  _ just  _ leave  _ it out for any random person to take.

Even Brother and Colonel Mustang never did that, even at the height of their irreverence towards the military as an institution and State Alchemists as a concept. But then again, he recalled how some new recruits over at Eastern could behave when not in the presence of an officer or more experienced soldier… So for all he knew the person had just decided to leave it in their pocket, with no regards as to who might steal it. State Alchemist pocket watches went for  _ high  _ prices on the black market, sold to civilian alchemists who hadn’t made the cut but wanted to pretend like they had, or to those who wanted the authority of a State Alchemist without any of the work.

_ “Is it a good idea to get involved Brother?” Al had sighed.  _

_ “Look, it’s not like I have any great love for the military, it’s full of corrupt bastards who don’t care about the people what-so-ever, but participating in fraud just because you couldn’t pass that fucking joke of a ‘test’  _ **_actually_ ** _ might have worse consequences than normal.” _

_ “Why do you say that Brother?” _

_ “Do you remember when we did all that research on State Alchemists Al? There used to be a part of the physical that was apparently a hands on psychology evaluation. Also, you remember that guy, Kimblee, the one who got locked up for murdering a bunch of his superiors and subordinates?” Al felt shivers run through his armor. The picture of that man, with those thin, watery blue eyes that felt like they were seeing through him, like they were analyzing his very soul still unnerved him.  _

_ It was the look of someone with absolutely no thought to the sanctity of human life, someone who obeyed only the rules he found fit to impose upon himself. That was the look of someone who would  _ **_enjoy_ ** _ performing human transmutation. “Well, I’m just saying, if you fail to join the ‘exalted’ ranks of the State Alchemists _ — _ ” here, he snorted _ — _ “while  _ **_that_ ** _ guy did, there’s probably a good reason why you were rejected. I don’t exactly trust someone who could be potentially worse than Kimblee having authority over regular people.” _

While, to be fair, cases like Kimblee were usually 1 in 10,000, it wasn’t like the other cases were good-hearted people either. There were always people who craved power for all the wrong reasons, and whenever he and Brother were in a position to help… Well, it would just be  _ wrong  _ not to. In other compartments, Al only saw civilians, regular people who were visiting Central now that it was back up and running, fully recovered from the damage of the Promised Day. 

As he was collecting his thoughts, a porter passed by, arms laden down with newspapers. He turned to face Al. 

“Would you like to read the paper Sir?” He asked politely. Al nodded, and reached into the small bag Ed had allowed him to carry and withdrew 10 cenz. He deposited the coins in the man’s free (well, freeish) hand. 

“Thanks.” Al said gratefully, and scanned through the headlines, trying to pick out which articles he might be interested in.  _ Central Tageszeitung  _ was, of course, mostly focused around the Central region, but it could occasionally hold some insight about national politics. Granted if he wanted a more in depth look at those, he should’ve asked for a copy of the  _ Handelsblatt  _ or  _ Amestris Landesweit _ . 

There was a lot of space being taken up with economic concerns, which was more than understandable, what with Central only just now getting back on its feet in terms of production, and what with many alchemists moving to other regions, there  _ had  _ been a noticeable economic slump in Central, with prices rising to combat the hole in the production cycle the brain drain caused by emigrating alchemists. The next big issue was with, surprise, surprise, Grumman’s position of the rebuilding of Ishval, and oh.

There, in big block letters underneath a photo: Colonel Mustang and Major General Armstrong (Al noted that it looked like their ranks were still frozen, and he wondered how long it would take for that to change) meet to discuss “Ishvalan Question”, Grumman allegedly “locked out of loop”.

Well, at least their stay in Central wouldn’t be boring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Central Tageszeitung - Central Daily (Newspaper)  
> Handelsblatt - Business Pages  
> Amestris Landesweit - Amestris Nationwide


	7. January 5th – June 2nd, 1917

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of prices in these two chapters, so instead of just including the exchange rates in my note posts over on my Tumblr, I'm putting them here instead for reference.
> 
> 1 USD = 16.03 AMC (USD appreciates against AMC)  
> 1 AMC = 0.06 USD (AMC depreciates against the US dollar)  
> 1 EUR = 14.29 AMC  
> 1 AMC = 0.07 EUR  
> 1 GBP = 13.51 AMC  
> 1 AMC = 0.074 GBP
> 
> (Note that I am American, so the most accurate exchange rates are probably going to be AMC to USD and USD to AMC)

_ January 5th, 1917 _

* * *

If Winry was ever offered the chance to go back in time and tell her past self one thing and one thing only… She would probably go back to last year and tell herself to save a  _ lot  _ more money than she already was saving. 

Of course, no one (not even when aided with the mysterious force that was alchemy) had come up with such a thing, so she was currently stuck with what she had. Not that what she had was  _ nothing _ mind you, and if things got  _ really  _ tough she could always rely on Ed or Al to help her out for a while until things eased back up, or she could pack her bags and head down to Rush Valley to work with Garfiel again until she could successfully weather the storm in Central. 

(The last option available to her in case of failure was unthinkable. Granny had  _ given  _ her this task to complete, and she would see it through. She would not go running back to Resembool the second things went wrong like a scared little child. She… She was  _ better _ than that.) 

But even with all those safety nets below her… Winry couldn’t help but feel a little scared. Not in the vein of security, no, her small clinic was set up in the heart of Central, where you couldn’t turn a corner without running into an MP, and besides she was plenty handy with a wrench. No, her fear lay more in the economic realm. The automail business was cutthroat at the best of times, and with the market now experiencing a new boom of demand caused by the injuries sustained during the coup… 

Well, there were many businesses that didn’t think that they needed any  _ more  _ competition for the new demand. Winry had gotten off lighter than most small clinics though, since the Fullmetal Alchemist himself had endorsed her and her shop, that meant that they were more hesitant to attempt to drive her out with threats. 

That  _ didn’t  _ mean, however, that they had stopped trying to drive her out entirely. She tore down the posters hung on the brick outside her clinic and tossed them into the garbage. 

_ “What the hell is this?!” She could hear Ed’s screams from 2 blocks away. Really, would it kill him to quiet down for once? Especially because repairing small joints was such delicate work! Stopping her efforts, she smiled pleasantly and nodded to her client, thankful that at the very least, her small practice wasn’t licensed for any _ **_real_ ** _ surgical work, only repairs. Marching out, she caught Ed by the ear and dragged him in.  _

_ “What the hell do you think you’re doing Ed? I’m trying to work here!” _

_ “Shit, Winry, you— Someone was putting up these posters, I scared ‘em away but—” He shoved the poster in her face. “Look at this shit! This can’t be legal!” The poster made her stomach bottom out. It was an advertisement, but unlike most that were put up near her clinic, these were advertisements for  _ **_automail_ ** _ , and they were offering many, if not all, of the same services she did. _

_ That would have been bad enough, but her eyes caught on the price tags. All, except for a few highly specialized jobs, were cheaper than hers. Worse still, she saw that they were leveraging their status as one of the oldest automail companies in the industry to entice people to go to them rather than newer practices like hers.  _

_ “It’s… It’s not illegal Ed. It’s just advertising.” _

_ “This is  _ **_actively_ ** _ malicious Winry. It’s gonna cost you a ton! Look, I can probably get Hughes on this, he’s good at blackmai—” Winry put up a hand to stop him.  _

_ “I don’t need it Ed. I have my own resources—”  _ I have my own pride _ went unsaid, but she was sure he could hear it anyways— “And I have my own ways to fight back. I… I don’t want to always be relying on you whenever I run into a problem.” _

_ “But you don’t!” Ed tried to protest. “You’re plenty strong without me Winry! I know that, Al knows that, Granny knows that,  _ **_You_ ** _ know that, hell, I’m sure all of Central Command knows that by now too!” _

_ “That’s not the  _ **_point_ ** _ Ed. It’s just… so many people know this clinic, know  _ **_me_ ** _ as yet another beneficiary of the ‘great Fullmetal Alchemist’. It’s not your fault Ed, it’s just how life works… But I don’t want to work in your shadow anymore, I can’t rely on your reputation forever. I need to cultivate my own. One where even if someone as famous as you gets their automail from here, no one says, ‘Oh, Rockbell Automail, isn’t that where the Fullmetal Alchemist got his automail?’, they’ll say ‘Rockbell Automail, that’s that amazing automail shop up in Central right?’ I want my own reputation.  _ **_That’s_ ** _ what I want.” He had looked stricken, eyes wide and mouth gaping.  _

_ “I— Winry— I was just trying to help.” _

_ “I know. But let me fail on my own merits Ed. Please.” She pried the ad out of his hands, and deposited it in the trash. Walking to the back room, she didn’t look back at Ed. If she did, her resolve would crumple, she would fall back on his generosity.  _

_ She couldn’t do that. She had to stand (or fall) using her own two feet.  _

There was a part of her that wished she had taken his offer, allowed him to ask Mr. Hughes to look into things, and maybe, just  _ maybe _ , she would have accepted it. If it wasn’t about  _ her  _ that is. Dusting her hands off, she walked back into the clinic and flipped the sign (and also struck a pose after doing so, which was a sign Grafiel had  _ maybe _ been more than just a good mentor when it came to her internship with him in Rush Valley), and at last, she was ready for business. 

Sighing to herself, Winry sat down at the counter and decided to people-watch for a few hours. Often it was the only thing that could keep her occupied  _ and  _ not make her  _ look _ unoccupied at the same time. Resting her chin on her hand, she prepared herself for yet another boring day where some people would walk in, ask for some supplies or maybe a tune up or two, and if she was lucky she might actually get to work on a rare model or do a  _ real  _ upgrade. But days when she got to something like that were rare. A sigh escaped her. She would be perfectly fine  _ personally  _ if this was all she got to do (after all, Central was home to some  _ very  _ rare automail designs and even if she only got a few customers per day that was still better than not getting to see those designs at all), but the rent of the building and the cost to replace her materials weren’t exactly  _ nonexistent. _

The bell chimed, and Winry snapped out of her reverie… Only to have her eyes land on Brigadier General Mustang and Second Lieutenant Falman.

“O _ — _ Oh, hello Brig _ — _ ” She stammered before Mustang held up a hand to stop her. 

“Good Morning Ms. Rockbell, before you ask, no you’re not in trouble, and both Fullmetal and Alphonse are fine, no spontaneous accidents. Also, please feel free to drop the rank.” She suddenly realized that both men were in civilian clothing, with Mustang in slacks and a white button down, and Falman in a brown knit sweater and tan work pants. 

“I didn’t know that either of you needed automail.” While she  _ was  _ flattered that they would come to her for automail work she  _ was  _ also concerned that she hadn’t heard anything from Ed  _ or  _ Al on the matter, maybe they had been asked to keep quiet (Winry knew that many people were still uncomfortable with automail even with its recent proliferation amongst the military demographic), but even so they would at least drop hints here or there… 

“No Ms. Rockbell, that’s not why we’re here today.” Sec _—_ _Mr._ Falman said, drawing a chair over to sit down in. “You see, some reports have come in about your clinic _—_ they’re all slander Ms. Rockbell, do sit down, you look quite pale.” Winry had started gripping the wooden counter tightly as Falman continued to speak. Mustang sighed and shook his head. 

“Let me do the talking Vato.” Not waiting for Falman to give him the go ahead, the raven haired man continued speaking. “Ms. Rockbell, I understand that the automail market in Central is quite competitive?”

“Yes, a lot of smaller practices often don’t survive, or if they do, they end up working in niche markets and get driven out later when the established companies expand. I think the latest statistics put the turnover rate at about 74% or automail practices in their first year.” 

“Well, I understand that the Führer is going to be passing a new law soon that will be subsidizing new automail manufacturers.”

“I have heard rumors about that in the papers, yes.”

“Well, a part of that law that not many know about is that the government will start contracting automail manufacturers and mechanics for military work. Now, before you say anything Ms. Rockbell, myself and the Second Lieutenant aren’t here in our military capacity, so we aren’t going to be offering you a contract with the military. I doubt you’d sign it anyways. What we are here to do is tell you that some of the larger practices may very well soon be more…  _ occupied  _ with other things rather than your own practice.” 

“I see. Is there a company you were hoping to recommend to the Führer Mr. Mustang?” She felt a spark of validation at the man’s cutting smirk. 

“I was hoping that  _ you  _ might inform us Ms. Rockbell, myself and the Lieutenant are not exactly knowledgeable on the subject.” She could almost cry. The propaganda war would come to an end, and considering that their resources would be tied up in the military sector, the private sector would now have a supply gap, a supply gap  _ she  _ could help fill!

(She wasn’t under any illusions that she could fill the gap herself, her clinic was currently only a one-person operation, she couldn’t service  _ all  _ of Central’s private demand by herself)

“Well, I would personally recommend the work of Yohan’s Automail for mechanical work and Bennard’s Steel for manufacturing, but if you would prefer businesses that would be able to meet demand more timely, then I suppose you can’t go wrong with Central Dynamics and Tower Mechanical.” She watched as the Second Lieutenant wrote the information down. 

“Thank you Ms. Rockbell,” the graying man said with a smile. “Keep a lookout in the papers for the change.” He exited the store, and Winry was left alone with the Brigadier General.

“You have quite the nice location.” He commented idly, but by the look in his eye, Winry knew she should pay attention. “A lot of foot traffic comes this way no? What with the HQ nearby and that popular café down 6th Street. Once the new law comes into effect, that might crowd up your shop a bit.”

_ Add more seating.  _ She could almost  _ hear  _ him say. While Winry wasn’t exactly in the business of just following whatever suggestions someone might throw her way about her shop, Ed had told her that Mustang had grown up in a bar, a fairly popular one too. And while bars and automail clinics may have nothing in common at the surface level, they were both businesses at the end of the day, and if there was anything a successful bar knew how to do well, it was attract customers. Hence why Winry wasn’t going to ignore the man out of hand.

“I’ve had my eye on some benches I saw being offered in the woodcraft sections of the crafts fair.”

“Those would certainly match the rest of the decor.” He mused. “I’ve heard that pine isn’t very good for wood, perhaps a nice redwood?”

“It  _ is  _ an Eastern tree, it would make the place feel a little homelier.”  _ I don’t want to be seen as a hick.  _ She looked him dead in the eye to convey her message.

“Well, if you’re looking for variety instead, oak wood is still quite durable, and it’ll keep well, indoors or outdoors. Ah, speaking of that foot traffic, will you be okay manning the shop all on your own?”  _ There should be at least one person behind the counter to receive people. _

“Currently I’ll be fine, I may look into hiring if things look up.” Maybe Paninya might want a job?

“Would you post in the military papers or the business papers?”

“I have some contacts in Rush Valley.”  _ I have it covered.  _ He made an impressed noise. 

“Well it looks like there’s nothing to worry about on that front then Ms. Rockbell, you have it all handled.” He smiled, shook her hand, then headed out.

Winry nearly collapsed to her knees as the door closed behind him.  _ That  _ had been a nerve wracking exchange. First the knowledge that her competitors were  _ lying  _ about her practice, and then the fact that they’d be tied up in military procedure that would hamper any attempts to harass her,  _ and then  _ getting business advice from Mustang… 

Winry got back up, and headed to the back. She needed a cup of coffee.

* * *

_ March 21st, 1917  _

* * *

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever heard the story behind you getting your alchemy back.” The innocent sentence stopped Ed cold as he was in the middle of pouring drinks for his coworkers. They’d all been tired after the long ceremony they’d had to participate in for the second anniversary of the Promised Day, and it turns out that Mustang had smuggled in a stash of alcohol just for the occasion. So of course his coworkers had all decided to get fucking smashed, if only to keep the anger from having their ranks frozen for another 6 months (by Grumman, who else) at bay.

_ “What’s the point of me and Al even being here if we’re too young to drink?!” The majority of the room burst into snickers at that outburst, the exceptions of course being Hawkeye and Falman, though the blonde sniper did have some creases around the corners of her lips that showed that she at least found the situation humorous.  _

_ “Boss, everyone here has participated in some form of underage drinking.” Havoc grinned. “We just keep it under wraps, but hey, if you don’t want to drink, you don’t have to. Though, you  _ **_are_ ** _ in the presence of responsible adults, so it’s not like you  _ **_can’t_ ** _ drink if you  _ **_do_ ** _ want to.” _

_ “There is no way I’ll believe that Hawkeye drank before she came of age.” Ed deadpanned.  _

_ “I snuck a few drinks from my father’s hidden stash in the cellar.” She said, a light smirk on her face.  _

_ “No, no— I don’t believe it! It’s bullshit, this is just you guys trying to get me to drink using reverse psychology—”  _

_ “I think Havoc explicitly said that if you don’t want to you don’t have to.” Mustang interrupted, but Ed paid him no mind. _

_ “And it won’t work on me,  _ **_or_ ** _ Al! Besides, alcohol tastes like shit anyways.”  _

_ “And how would  _ **_you_ ** _ know, eh Boss? Thought you said you wouldn’t ever drink.” Breda snarked.  _

_ “I don’t have to taste it to know it’s bad!” _

He set the bottle of beer down. “That’s… That’s a long story.”

“Well, we have all night. Day. Whatever.” Mustang gestured vaguely at the locked door and closed windows. Everyone else was looking at him, interest clearly shining in their eyes. 

_ “I’m doing this for you son… I know how much you love alchemy.”  _ Ed sighed deeply. 

“Well, it happened on the same day Father was defeated. After Al was taken to the hospital. Hohenheim… He picked me up, carried me off a little ways from the wreckage.” He picked at his right arm, all these years later, he still couldn’t believe that he had it back. “I… I only remember a little. It’s been 2 whole years.” He confessed. “Hohenheim did the work, but I saw the circle when I came back from the Gate, it was a human transmutation array, but just… modified. There were elements of Marcoh’s array in it, I think those were to separate himself from the stone that Father turned him into, and well, the human transmutation array. And we all know what  _ that’s  _ used for. I woke up at the Gate, but...” 

_ White. All he saw was white. It was blinding him, searing his eyes in its monochromatic glory. Blinking, Ed groaned as awareness crept up on him and immediately smacked him with a sledgehammer. Everything hurt, his limbs, his head, his— He sprang forwards, though his efforts were rewarded by his vision blacking out and stars appearing behind his eyes.  _

_ He still managed to keep himself awake, and he stared, uncomprehendingly at first, then in shock, at his father and Truth.  _

_ Shock turned into anger. _

_ “What the  _ **_hell_ ** _ do you think you’re doing Hohenheim!?” He raged, getting to his feet unsteadily. “Didn’t you  _ **_fucking_ ** _ hear me back then?! What part of, ‘we don’t want your shitty sacrifice’ did you not understand?!” He limped forwards, eyes narrowed and nearly topped over as he aimed a punch at him.  _

_ When it connected, it felt fulfilling, it felt right, to unleash all his anger and grief caused by the man staggering away from him in one punch.  _

_ “I had no choice.” He said gravely.  _

_ “There’s always a choice.” Ed snapped. “Always an alternative, we swore we wouldn’t use people’s lives to accomplish our goals!” _

_ “This isn’t about your body Edward.” That sentence stopped him cold.  _

_ “What… What do you mean?” He asked cautiously.  _

_ “I know what you gave up Edward.” Hohenheim laughed softly, cradling his injured cheek. “I’m proud of you, I would have made the same choice. But… Even as lackluster a father I came to be… I don’t want to see you giving up something so important to you.” _

_ “There are more important things than alchemy.” Friendship, family,  _ **_love._ ** _ Honestly, how stupid had he been, to think that the law of Equivalent Exchange was this world’s only truth?  _

_ “That’s true.” Hohenheim agreed. “But I’ve already made the deal Edward. I only asked for some time to say goodbye to you.” _

_ “Didn’t I  _ **_just_ ** _ say why giving up your life is a terrible idea?! I can live without alchemy, I—” He was cut off by a hug. _

_ “I’m doing this for you son… I know how much you love alchemy.” Hohenheim whispered. “I’m sure you’ll do great things, but I know that you’ll do even  _ **_greater_ ** _ things with alchemy.” He broke the hug and stepped away, nodding sharply at Truth. Ed turned to the entity, and felt his hands ball up into fists. _

_ “This isn’t fair!” He cries. (Cried. He’s said that so many times he’s lost count. “It’s not fair”, but Truth doesn’t care about fair, he knows that. What’s  _ **_fair_ ** _ about Al’s soul being equivalent to Ed’s right arm? What’s  _ **_fair_ ** _ about ripping Teacher’s womb out for only wanting to touch her child again? Was it _ **_fair_ ** _ to blind Mustang, a man who hadn’t even performed human transmutation of his own volition?) _

_ “ _ **_There isn’t any such thing as ‘fair’ Mis~ter Al~chem~ist._ ** _ ” Truth says, the smile on its face more monstrous than Ed had ever seen it before. “ _ **_There is only equivalency. It just so happens that a sufficiently potent Philosopher’s Stone is equivalent to the Gate of one headstrong Alchemist._ ** _ ”  _

_ “There you have it Ed.” Hohenheim says tiredly. “This doesn’t even begin to make up all that I owe you and Alphonse… But, I hope this is a good start.” _

_ “Why!?” Ed finally exclaims. If he can’t get Hohenheim to reconsider, then he should at least know why, know why the bastard that ran out on him and Al and… Mom… decided to do this.  _

_ “A father’s duty is to take care of his sons, patch them up when they need healing, help them on their feet when they fall down... And if there should come a day when he must choose between his child’s happiness and his life… A true father knows what must be given up. I don’t regret my choices Edward. I only want to see you and Alphonse happy.” _

_ “ _ **_Time’s up._ ** _ ” Ed wanted to scream that no, no it wasn’t. He had so much more to say, to scream, to deny.  _

_ The last thing he saw before everything went white was Hohenheim aging rapidly, and a small, almost infinitesimally tiny, blood-red stone being dragged out of him.  _

_ The last thing he heard was a quiet, whispered: “I love you.” _

“When I woke up in the circle, I almost didn’t know where I was. I figured that Hohenheim had transmuted a small section of the underground laboratory into a place where he could complete the transmutation… And then I had to dig myself out… Hohenheim… I guess he survived and managed to get himself out before me, I remember seeing some alchemical residue on some of the stone… And Granny Pinako said she found him in front of mom’s grave, so he must have kept a bit of the Stone in him, not that I know how. ” He trained his eyes on the ground. He didn’t want to see their pity. (Or shock. Or horror.) “...When I finally got myself out… The sun on my face felt better than  _ anything _ . Because… Because it was proof that I was alive.”

Ed, boneless, sunk into one of the unoccupied seats. Al was soon to follow, plopping himself down beside him and hugging him tight. And then… And then Ed let the waterworks flow. 

(He was thankful that no one breathed even a word about the tears on his face when he went into work the next day.) 

* * *

_April 3rd, 1917_

* * *

Winry stared at the paper in her hands. “Ed… Why?”

“Well, I didn’t want to use the dorm anymore, and I don’t think you’re fine crashing in your shop every night. Plus, Al’s gonna need a real place to stay since I think I’m about coming up against the limits of what the military will allow me to do.” Though he had started his argument in confidence, Ed’s demeanor quickly fell into a sheepish, shy sort of voice, like he was afraid that if he admitted his troubles, Winry would walk out the door and never look him in the eye again.

“Oh, so that’s why? Well… It does sound like a good decision. I’m guessing all these are apartments you’ve already looked into?”

“Yeah, but I can’t go with you to any viewings today, sorry Winry, but Mustang roped me into a mission and-”

“It’s fine, I can go with Al!” Winry smiled. “You should probably go then before people start to wonder where you’ve gone off to now.” She gently pushed him to the door. Ed fixed with her with a strangely undecipherable look as she did so, then smiled and headed out. Winry took another glance at the paper and sighed.

She’d have to close up shop early it looks like. But first things first. She walked over to the phone, and dialed the military dorms, since Al was most likely there. If he wasn’t… Well, she’d start from the Hughes’ residence and make her way down the list from there.

* * *

“It’s a good thing Brother scheduled these… But I think it would have been better if he gave us a bit more notice in advance...” Al laughed as he walked with Winry.

“Right?!” She exclaimed. “Ugh! Sometimes Ed just…  _ just…! _ ” She started gesticulating wildly to prove her point.

“Well, at least he gave us notice at all instead of running off on his own to do it.”

“With his taste in fashion? I’d rather just sleep in my shop. You remember what a disaster those earrings he tried to give me were!”

“Were these disaster earrings  _ before  _ or  _ after  _ the debacle where you decided to get piercings for all the earrings we got you?”

“I wouldn’t have needed so many piercings if Ed just took care of his automail!” Winry shouted, dodging the question. Al clearly noticed, but didn’t say anything. “I-In any case, here we are. The Golden Leaves Apartment Complex.”

“Aren’t these luxury apartments?”

“Um…” Winry looked at the paper Ed had given her. On it, the words:  _ Golden Leaves Apt. Comp. Apt 283, Rose St.  _ were written in varying degrees of legibility. “It says we’re at the right place… And I’m sure Ed wouldn’t glance at any apartments we couldn’t afford.”

“I’m… I’m really not so certain about that.” Al said, taking a glance of his own at the paper. “Actually, now that I’m  _ really  _ looking at this… A lot of these are in  _ really  _ well-to-do areas… And they aren’t close by the shop or HQ.”

“Great, just  _ great _ . I bet that idiot just looked at the features and didn’t even care about the location!” She groaned. “Do you see any on the list that are close by and aren’t in any snobby neighborhoods?” Al studied the list a bit more carefully.

“There’s one here that I pass by on my way to the library.” He said, pointing at the name of the neighborhood: Foxglove Apartments. “And this one here,” He pointed at a complex named Keynes’ House, “It’s a little further away, but it’s still only a 10-minute walk to your shop or HQ.”

“Well, I guess we should check those out first. Which one has the earliest viewing time?”

“Keynes. If neither work out we can always do drop in.” Al hummed. 

“Yes, but I’d rather avoid that if we can. It’s impolite.” Winry lightly admonished. “Either way, we still have 2 hours to go before we go viewing. Want to go get something to eat?” Al perked up at her words, and Winry had to wonder if military food was really  _ as bad  _ as she had heard it was. Stifling a laugh, she led him to a small open air restaurant serving Cretan food.

“Are you good with Cretan Al?” She asked as they approached.

“Honestly, I’ll take anything at this point!” He laughed. “Brother’s cooking skill leaves a lot to be desired...” He trailed off, reliving the memories. 

Winry watched him with a fond smile on her face as they walked up to the small shop. Luckily there didn’t seem to be many customers at this hour. They took their seats, and waited for a waiter to ask for their orders. As they waited, Winry took the time to regale Al with some of the stories from her work, and Al filled her in about some of Ed’s antics.

* * *

“I think this is it.” Al said. Winry had to agree with him. After spending 4 hours just viewing apartments, they had finally found the perfect one for them. It was spacious, with 5 bedrooms, plus a kitchenette and a communal area, not to mention the 3 bathrooms, granted 1 was just a WC, but it still counted! Winry had fallen in love with the nostalgic design of the complex, and Al liked the sturdiness of the furniture (which he had discreetly tested with alchemy, he had quietly admitted to her during the viewing) and the spaciousness.

“The price isn’t half bad either.” Granted, the location was a little out of the way, 15 minutes to the clinic and HQ, but Al had said he didn’t mind the extra exercise. Now it was only a matter of getting Ed to agree, though Winry was sure that he would fall in love with the place as well. Winry turned to the landlord. “We’ll be back tomorrow for the paperwork, if that’s okay with you?”  He nodded quickly. 

“Yes miss! That’s completely fine with me, er, may I have your name and number?” Winry rattled off the information, then left with Al.

“That was fun.” He said as they got closer to her shop. “Well, not the viewings, they started to get boring after the 3rd one… But just being on the street.” Winry made a tiny noise of agreement.

“We can always go on a shopping trip or something like that next week if you want Al, just to get out.” Al smiled at her.

“I’d like that Winry.” She smiled back at him.

* * *

_April 17th, 1917_

* * *

Al finds himself lost from the rest of the Amestrian procession, wandering the halls of the large (almost comically so) palace of the Xingese capital, Longjing. While on a normal day, he might have appreciated the aesthetic and cultural differences of the palace, right now, he was more annoyed than impressed with its almost labyrinthine structure. The fact that he had foregone his crutches and wheelchair in a bid to prove to his brother and Winry that he  _ was  _ in fact, progressing steadily in his physical therapy wasn’t helping either.

He didn’t even know  _ how  _ he had gotten lost, it really should not have been an issue to lose two loudly arguing people who totally “didn’t give a shit about each other” (ha), nor the  _ 5 other  _ military soldiers dressed in eye-catching blue. But somehow, in between traveling through one of the many gates they had been led down on their way to the center of the palace, he had gotten _ lost _ . Brother would never let him live this down. Al glanced around at the walls again, wondering if he could at least recognize some of the decor to divine if he was going the right or wrong way, but apparently the palace’s decor had been placed with the idea that there were at least 49 different groups coming after the Emperor/Empress’ head at all times, so every wall looked the exact same as every other wall that came before it. 

Al would have been awed by the ingenuity and the precision if he wasn’t being  _ trapped by it.  _

But the one saving grace, Al decided, was the fact that the palace was absurdly open. Really, for a place that was so obviously designed to try and confuse intruders, the effort really didn’t matter as long as someone could make their way to one of the more open spaces and figure out where they were from either  _ looking  _ or  _ listening _ , which Lan Fan and May had both proven on  _ multiple  _ occasions that if there was anything the Xingese people were good at, it was those two things. 

Still, from the noise at least, he could at least slowly make his way towards a place where he would be able to find the rest of his group, if they weren’t looking for him already. It almost made him wish that he knew alkahestry because someone like May Chang wouldn’t even break a sweat trying to figure out where they were and reorient themselves. As it was, Alphonse was mostly relying on his keen sense of hearing and trial and error.

Turning into a dead-end for what seemed like the fifth time in the last 15 minutes however, wasn’t exactly a pleasing experience. Just as he was about to give up and simply use alchemy to tunnel out and apologize to Ling later, his eyes saw a few blue sparks start to seemingly will themselves into existence on the wall in front of him. Stepping a healthy 10 steps back, Al watched that the sparks lashed out wildly, arcing and splitting until they finally stabilized and formed a circle with 5 connection points. 

_ So this is what the reverse side of an alkahestry array looks like.  _ Al marveled. He watched as the wall crumbled away, and the diminutive May Chang stepped through. “There you are Keerie Alphonse!” Oh... she was still adding honorifics to his name. That was more than  _ slightly _ embarrassing, though it was also endearing, what with her not-so-slight accent on the rolled ‘r’ of the outdated honorific. 

“You don’t have to call me sir, Miss May.”

“Well, I won’t call you by that title if you stop calling me ‘miss’.” She fired back. Al blushed, not wanting to be seen as impolite, but also dreading the reactions of his friends if they heard May address him by “Sir”. After weighing his options, Alphonse decided that he’d rather take the teasing than be impolite. 

“Then you can keep calling me by Sir.” Al sighed. “Has the ceremony been going on very long? I hope I haven’t missed it.”

“No, though between you and me, the enthronement is  _ really  _ boring. It just goes  _ on and on _ , it’s not as though this is the first time in Xingese history a new emperor has taken the throne, and I  _ know  _ Ling wanted to cut out some of more time-consuming traditions because it seems they get longer  _ every year _ , but the elders  _ insisted— _ ” Al almost laughed at how put out she sounded, though he could relate somewhat, getting Ed to sit through anything he considered boring was like trying to tape a blueberry to a wall. It  _ could  _ be done, but the end result was usually just a waste of time and resources that you could have found better uses for in the long run anyways. 

“What’s happened so far?” He interrupted her rant.

“Well there was all the ‘can’t let the foreigners see’ stuff. I don’t even know why it’s mandated that we  _ have  _ to keep it to  _ only  _ the 50 clans, it’s not like we’re throwing state secrets out into the open during these events! It was a meeting of the clans, where we all had to give our respects to the new Emperor, that was the big event, but with the fuss the elders kicked up you would have thought that Ling was going to be announcing the locations of the Crown Jewels! But anyways, I almost thought a fight was about to break out _ — _ ” Well that wasn’t very surprising, at least, from what he had heard from a few whisperings about the situation in Xing ever since Ling had presented his father with the Stone anyways. 

Apparently the young prince had become even more of a target, with many clans with large power bases in the capital all trying to eliminate him. (Including, apparently, the old emperor’s parent clan. Apparently they had been the reigning clan for the last 10 emperors or so, and didn’t appreciate that a so-called ‘trumped-up merchant clan“ was now taking the throne) He also heard that May in turn had also become targeted, and, as a consequence, she had moved to the capital to be around Ling more so that people wouldn’t go after her clan. “—But luckily no one tried anything. We had a big banquet where Father announced his intentions to help guide Ling through the first few years of his rule, but we all know that’s a lie, he just wants to keep his clan in Ling’s good graces despite the fact that they’re gunning for the destruction of the whole Yao clan. Though why he bothers is beyond me, since, like I said, everyone who has  _ eyes  _ can see that what the Song clan  _ want  _ is Ling’s head on a platter.” She rolled her eyes, and Al laughed. 

Honestly, he was just glad that Amestris’ own political problems weren’t that messy (Or at least, that they had  _ stopped  _ being that messy about a good two decades or so before the Civil War. The Eastern Unification had been the last major event to be that messy, and to say the least, there were good reasons why there  _ weren’t  _ many alchemists who lived out East beyond the whole “poorest region in the country” thing).

“And that, plus some other ceremonial stuff, like Ling having to visit the Imperial Cemetery to announce his ascension to the Dragon Throne, was put on _just hours before_ all of you guys showed up. As soon as the Botai showed up suddenly it was chaos, and everyone was rushing to greet _them_ and then _your procession_ showed up, but Ling couldn’t just go out and say _hi_ like he wanted to, _no_ , the Council said he had to wait until we finished receiving the Botai procession, and even after _that_ he had to keep up this stupid shield of propriety like he and your brother didn’t share a _boot_ together as a meal.” She huffed, clearly annoyed with the bureaucracy that permeated the capital. Honestly, Al couldn’t say he was surprised, princess or not, May was still from the poorest clan in Xing, there wasn’t likely enough _resources_ to even bother with bureaucracy, and then she ran off to Amestris, where bureaucracy was a funny joke as long as you had raw power on your side, and even if you didn’t you could always just bribe your way past the red tape.

So he could understand why May was chafing under all the new rules and regulations: She just wasn’t used to this kind of lifestyle. 

“Speaking of that boot, did Ling actually say that he was going to share that story around as a folktale?”

“He’s already done so.” May said, tugging on his hand gently to tell him that they needed to start walking. “I heard some children the other day when I was looking for alkahestry supplies chattering about the ‘golden haired boy who fed the prince a boot’.”

“Well, Lan Fan should be able to take care of everything then.” Al said, filing that knowledge away in the folder he mentally marked as  _ things not to tell Brother ever. _

“Do you really think that you— Never mind, I’m asking the wrong questions.  _ Of course  _ he’s hot-tempered enough to deck Ling in the face over spreading that story. It doesn’t even paint him in a bad light! Honestly, I don’t know how you two are related sometimes...”

“Well, Brother’s calmed down some, but well… Doesn’t it seem a little disrespectful?”

“In what way? They both needed sustenance, and it wasn’t like he poisoned him.” Al blinked at her for a second, because he was  _ pretty sure  _ that ‘feeding the Emperor a boot’ was something that transcended cultures as being disrespectful… And then he remembered  _ once again _ that May was from out  _ West.  _ Out West, AKA right next to the Great Desert, AKA on the ragged edge of civilization, AKA the location of the  _ poorest clan in Xing _ . 

Of  _ course  _ **_she_ ** didn’t view it as disrespectful, but surely the other clans  _ would.  _ They wouldn’t see it as “that was what they had on hand, and if they didn’t eat it, they’d die”, they’d see it as “the barbarian foreigners think that the Emperor is only good enough to eat their footwear.”

There was a part of him that was suddenly relieved that he wasn’t considered an  _ official  _ member of the diplomatic mission, lest he be roped into games of Xingese politics. He would leave those to Mustang’s Team, he’d rather spend his time studying alkahestry and the local cultures. 

“Well, I think some of the clans closer to the capital might think it’s disrespectful. Especially since I don’t think Ling could exactly tell the whole story.”

“The clans nearest the capital are always perpetually offended at  _ something _ .” She scoffed. “Ling doesn’t pay them any attention, and honestly, if I could, I wouldn’t either.”

“But won’t he have to pay attention to them when it comes to making laws or regional concerns?”

“Of course. But he can feel free to ignore them in his personal life.” Well, that was certainly one way to tell who was currently in the favor of the Emperor and who was not. He smiled, realizing that the clans who had looked down on the Changs would now be included on the list of people that Ling wouldn’t give the time of day to. But then again, he suspected that Ling didn’t have the best of relationships with his other siblings to begin with (Lan Fan and May’s fight at Dr. Knox’s notwithstanding), given that it was likely that he’d had attempts on his  _ life _ by those said siblings.

Al shuddered, he couldn’t ever imagine having to fight his brother. 

“We’re out.” May’s voice sliced through his thoughts, and Al’s attention was quickly captured by the colorful (and loud) scene outside. “Let’s go stand on the outer garden balcony, we’ll have a better view there.” He let her guide him, occasionally asking her to slow down, so he could get a closer look at the parade going on in the outer sections of the palace, or, so he could admire the impressive gardens. “If you’re impressed by the parade, you’ll be awestruck at night.”

“What happens at night?”

“The celebratory fireworks and later on, the Commoners’ Festival.” She hummed. “The fireworks are stunning to see, and the festival has the best food in the capital, it’ll probably suit your palate better than the food from the palace anyways.”

“I really hope I get to see them.” They skirted around a guard who was currently patrolling the hallways via a combination of alkahestry and alchemy, and then they made their way to a part of the balcony that circled the gardens that didn’t have too many people. Al spotted the rest of the Amestrian delegation on the other side of the gardens, but still relatively close by due to their positioning at the top of a tower, and waved, catching the attention of Captain Hawkeye (living up to her name) who quickly altered Ed of his new location. 

He didn’t get to see Ed’s reaction because May had turned his head to look at Ling, who was walking down the garden path, flanked by a host of guards, some older men, and a few women dressed in what looked like priestly garb. His face was set in a blankly neutral expression, and he was wearing a set of clothing that Al privately thought didn’t suit the new emperor. They were ostentatious, bright, and served to state that Ling was going to be the new authority of Xing, like a blister beetle using aposematic coloration.

_ Bright and shiny, but it  _ **_will_ ** _ leave you hurting if you disturb it.  _

The crowd went silent, as Ling walked past them. Eventually, as he made his way to the steps of the palace, the entire courtyard went silent. “So, who are the people following Ling?” Al whispered.

“Those are some of the priestesses, they’ll bless his rule, venerate our glorious ancestors, the whole shebang. The men are the members of the Imperial Court, Ling’ll probably clear house as soon as he can though.” She whispered back. 

“Where’s the rest of the princes and princesses?”

“Inside the palace, we’re not supposed to come out during the ceremony. Elders say it’s a sign of rebellion.” She rolled her eyes. “In any case it doesn’t matter because no one follows that rule, and the clans are almost always rebelling or scheming to rebel anyways.”

From their position on the balcony, Al spied Lan Fan peaking out from behind one of the columns. Ling turned to face the crowd, and started reciting something in Xingese, though he was able to understand by way of May, who translated as Ling talked. 

“Those were his prayers to Heaven.” She explained quietly, her eyes fixated on a spot behind Ling, the area where he had spotted Lan Fan. “Next will be his acceptance of the Mandate of Heaven, we’ll all follow him to the center of the palace where our father will hand over the Dragon Throne. Ling’ll sit, get his headdress placed on his head, then the princes and princesses and court members will have to swear fealty. That’ll be the long, boring part, especially for you guys. Since you won’t know half of the people and why they’re important, I mean.” She explained quietly. 

After what felt like an eternity, Al finally saw the crowd start moving in a surge of people, flowing like water as Ling continued deeper into the palace. 

“Wait, the foreign delegation are all in towers, so how—”

“Traditionally, the new emperor is meant to greet foreigners after his subjects.” May explained as she herded him in the direction Ling was. As they walked, Al felt a sharp tingle go up his spine, reminiscent of the feeling he had when his legs suddenly locked up, or a bolt of pain shot through them early on in his physical therapy.

“Did you feel that just now?” Al asked May hurriedly, realizing that it wasn’t just a “my legs are still healing” thing as May suddenly tensed up. 

“Like lightning just shot up your spine?” She asked, putting on speed.

“Yeah… I hope everything’s okay.”

“Lan Fan’s with him, and we both know that she won’t let anything harm him.” Al politely didn’t mention that Lan Fan might not  _ have  _ a choice in Ling’s safety if she had been detained. (Like with Greed.)

They shoved past the sudden throng of people they’d run into on the upper balcony, only to head down the stairs and make a beeline for the ground floor. With the thinner concentration of people here, there were more chances for people to take notice of them, and take notice they did. 

“ _ Was that Princess Chang? With a foreigner? _ ”

“ _ That boy looks like the Great Sage of the West reborn... _ ”

Al had to hide a grimace as they bolted to the center rooms. As they shoved past a few more people, Al watched, red-faced, and out of breath (he really needed to get back in shape, recovering from his previous emaciated state was all well and great, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he was winded so easily) as Ling was calmly walking towards the chair, a person Alphonse could only assume was May and Ling’s father standing to the side, two boxes in hand. The spark of frisson made its way down his spine again, and he agitatedly tried to figure out where the source of it was. Finding nothing out of place, Al slowly calmed down. May tugged on his sleeve, and pointed discreetly to where he could spot Lan Fan peering at them from a corner, black eyes clearly wondering why they looked so disheveled.

Al was honestly just amazed that May could actually feel Lan Fan’s energy from all the way over there. “The next thing he’s going to do is accep—” She stopped short, and her hand dived into her robes with a speed that made it look like it had blurred out of existence. Her left foot moved with a similar speed, kicking out in an arc that swept the legs out from under the people in front of them. A piece of paper with what looked to be a transmutation circle somehow ended up in between the fingers of her empty hand, and she  _ threw. _

He saw a flash of steel, and heard a crackle of alchemy _ — _ no _ — _ alkahestry, and watched as the kunai headed  _ towards Ling.  _ He instinctively reacted, his body in the motions of slamming his hands together, just as his conscious mind caught up, reminding him that no, May wasn’t likely to kill Ling, and that he should check again. 

They weren’t being  _ aimed at  _ **_Ling_ ** _ ,  _ but actually  **_behind_ ** _ him _ . 

Al heard steel scrape against a metal scabbard, and Lan Fan  _ appeared  _ from the shadows, pushing Ling out of the way and out of the chair, as someone darted towards the two of them, a sword out, clearly looking to end Ling’s reign before it even began. There was another  _ crackle  _ in his ears, and the unknown assailant was restrained, his legs encased in stone. Al gaped at May. 

“Wow.” He breathed, and she turned to look at him, a bright smile on her face. “That… That was  _ amazing. _ ” He said. 

“Alkahestry is really versatile.” She said. “Though it lacks a lot of power.” That was true, Al figured that if he had applied the same amount of power, he would have been able to encase the assailant up to the neck. But it was still impressive. 

The ceremony quickly got back underway, but Al’s mind was still stuck on how  _ good  _ May was with alkahestry. 

He wondered if he could be as good if he learned it.

* * *

_June 2nd, 1917_

* * *

This was going to be the greatest trick Mustang had ever pulled off _if_ (and Ed stressed the _if_ ) it went off successfully. He still remembered reading the newspaper article that had featured Mustang and Armstrong playing Grumman like he was a fucking violin. 

Ed couldn’t feel too bad though, Grumman  _ had  _ to have known he was playing with a ticking time bomb in the forms of the resources of both the Armstrong Family and the youngest Colonel Amestris had ever seen. Resources that Grumman himself had taken advantage of himself many a time before 1915. 

Yeah, the man had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. Though Ed would also be happy to confess to never wanting to see Mustang and Armstrong  _ ever  _ collaborate together on something  _ ever  _ again, because he was sure that between the two of them, they’d manage to see Amestris through yet another entire swath of wars that would see the country expand to a good 5 times its current size while also keeping the populace happy and ignorant of what was going on beyond their borders if they were so inclined. 

He still remembered listening to the radio the day Grumman had finally been pushed into enough of a corner by the two officers: 

_ “Ladies and gentlemen, the Führer-President of Amestris.” There was a smattering of applause from the workers over at Capital Radio.  _

_ “My friends, I want to talk for a few minutes with the people of Amestris about the Ishvalan people.” Grumman said placidly.  _

_ “Now, you’ll forgive me for an interruption Sir, but is this in any way related to the meeting that supposedly occurred between Briggs’ Commander Maj— or should I say— Lieutenant General Armstrong and Col— well, I suppose it’s Brigadier General now— Mustang?” Oliver Wright’s quicksilver machine gun like way of talking often annoyed many people, but it was actually one of the qualities Ed liked most. Wright often battered his guests with dozens of questions in a short span of time, it was a mark of quick thinking and a good ability to sort out the important questions that marked when Wright had a good guest on.  _

_ “The good officers and I have no reason to hide our opinions and thoughts on this matter, I have even consulted both of them when researching about what we, the people of Amestris can do to help our brethren.” Grumman was good, easily weaseling himself out of tricky questions like the one Wright had set up. “But as I was saying, it does the country no good to talk with the comparative few Amestrians who understand the deeper mechanics and culture of the Ishvalan people, as no justice will be able to come for them if we wait. Action should be taken, must be taken, to right what we have set wrong.” _

_ “Would this involve, say, granting the land that used to be Ishval independence?” _

_ “No, Ishval as a territory has had a long and storied history, but independence is not on the horizon as of yet. Its land has been depreciated and degradation of the local environment has lowered the survivability of the land by a factor that most researchers say is upwards of 10 times. Because of that, we must use our technologies and prowess to make Ishval livable, so that the Ishvalan people may, in their own time, decide for themselves if they would want independence. At that time, Amestris will do all it can to help the nation of Ishval stand on its own two feet.” _

_ “An ambitious goal Führer Grumman, ambitious indeed. Well, while we’re on the topic of Ishval for now, have you made a decision about the futures of many Ishvalan War veterans? While Lieutenant General Armstrong never served out there— why she was an example to them more like, wasn’t she a Colonel at that time—? but oh, Amestris’ golden boy, Brigadier General Mustang has. If I recall correctly, many of his men thought him the Hero of Ishval, the name that most everyone calls him by these days.” _

_ “I rather dislike the name Ishvalan War—” _

_ “What do you propose we call it then Sir?” _

_ “There was a young soldier who once remarked that it wasn’t a war, for war has a chance to be honorable, rather this was an extermination, a purge of the Ishvalan people.” _

_ “Quite the inflammatory statement there.” _

_ “So the truth is now inflammatory, how we as a nation have fallen.” The conversation had continued on in that vein, eventually branching out into new banking laws and opening relations with Aerugo and Creta, though Ed noted that Xing was mysteriously absent from the list of nations Grumman planned to improve relations with, even though Ling had already ascended the throne. As the program ended, Wright had one last question. _

_ “Ah well folks it’s getting late now, and I’m sure Abigail is itching to start her own show, so I’ll make this last one nice, quick, and snappy. Führer Grumman, earlier, when we discussed the question of what is to be done with the people of Ishval, you mentioned that independence is not on the cards. What then is your plan?” _

_ “The good Brigadier General’s proposal is a restoration project, a show of goodwill and faith if you will.” _

_ “I see, I see. Any date planned for this project, or are we going to be left in the dark for a little while longer while Mustang gets the fire goin’?” They both paused to laugh at the joke, and then Grumman responded: _

_ “I have already approved the plan to move forwards a week from today.” _

Mustang had barely batted an eye when informed of the short deadline by Ed, Fuery, and Falman simultaneously. 

“Well, we’ve worked with lesser on shorter timeframes.” Was all he had to say on the matter. 

Well almost. He had taken Ed aside to apologize for separating him from Al and Winry for what looked like 5 months (if everything went smoothly), but he had also promised liberal amounts of leave since he was still a minor, and so Ed had refrained from decking him.

Much. 

But now the day had finally arrived, and Ed could almost  _ see  _ the apprehension on Hawkeye, Mustang, and Hughes’ faces. The three veterans were twitchy, almost to the point where Ed was about to strap them to their seats via transmuting the plush velvet coverings. They got worse the closer their train was to the sandy desert. By the time they actually  _ got  _ to Ishval (using a specialized jeep that Havoc had managed to commandeer from one of his family members who apparently worked in military vehicles), the three of them looked paler than death. 

Ed could’ve sworn that someone was going to need to herd them into the small, ramshackle building that had been set up for their use, when they all suddenly straightened up, and regained a bit of color to their faces. They still looked like they’d been run over by a train, but it was better than earlier. 

“The letter from General Armstrong says that we need to meet Miles and... Scar… In the district of Gunja.” Falman said briskly, obviously trying to focus the veterans. 

“Gunja… Hmn, that’s the one Valmet _ — _ ” Mustang began to say, then paused. “Wait… Why  _ Gunja? _ ” 

“Well, Gunja is very close to Amestris proper, and it was always the district that had the best relationship with Amestris. Obviously that was before the war.” Hughes lectured. “I  _ would _ say that this is Grumman throwing us a bone, since it has a relatively higher ratio of Amestrian to Ishvalan when it comes to population demographics and Gunja was relatively untouched during the war.”

“No, it wasn’t, near the tail end someone enlisted Kimblee to raze a chunk of the land to the ground, and I recall some rumors being spread that Quelle Company _ — _ you know, from 3rd Division, good with artillery, Yakovlev was in it _ —  _ ended up stationed there”

“Never mind then.” Hughes deadpanned. “But I still smell a trap. Gunja is  _ too  _ much of an easy goal for Grumman to just willingly assign us to it, so something’s up here.”

“I heard that he and Fessler were close.” Riza muttered. 

“Oh, well I suppose that  _ would _ do it.” Hughes grumbled. “Well, we can’t laze around here forever, let’s get moving everyone!” At the order, everyone jumped into action, unloading the jeep and carrying supplies from it into the building. They’d have to do this several times in the coming weeks, what with more supplies needing to be ferried in from Central, and more personnel to help construct more convenient transport routes wouldn’t be available since  _ they  _ were due to arrive in a  _ month _ . 

As Ed walked out for the last load of the packages they’d been able to stuff into the jeep, he noticed the trio of veterans sitting out on the hill nearby. Their words carried on the desert wind, and Ed tried to quickly hurry so to not eavesdrop.

“It seems that Ishval is done with us yet.” Hawkeye commented. 

“It was never really done with us Riza.” Hughes drawled. Mustang had apparently stayed silent throughout the exchange, something which had not gone unnoticed by Hughes. “What’s eating you Roy? I’ve never seen you be this silent.”

“I’m still… I’m thinking about what you said earlier, that Gunja might be a trap.” There was quiet rustling from the sand shifting as the three of them adjusted their positions. “None of us served here, but it’s unlikely that the locals won’t know Hawkeye and I at the least. Besides, we don’t know how anti-Amestrian they may have become since the war, even with the help? Hindrance? Of the increased Amestrian population that lives here.”

“Well, we’ll have to just cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“...What if Grumman sent us here because he  _ knew _ we would be recognized?” Hawkeye posited.

“The hell? Grumman’s your grandfather Captain, he won’t willingly send you into danger. Roy, he probably wishes would take a flying leap off of a cliff, sure, but he  _ likes  _ you.”

“...The Führer has always been a mysterious man.” She said cryptically. “He likes to spend his pawns like water.” 

And if that wasn’t code for:  _ He sees us as expendable _ , then Ed didn’t know  _ what  _ was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for this fic I haven't really been placing translations at the end (mostly because it hasn't been required), but there's one bit in this chapter that likely needs it.
> 
> In the April 17th Section (AKA, Al and co take a trip to Xing), May refers to Al as "Keerie" (Key-ree-eh, the "r" is rolled like in perro) which is the romanized version of κύριε which means either Mr. or Sir in Greek. (It only means "Sir" in Amestrian, hence Al calling it outdated) Why Greek and not German? Well, I HC that Amestrian general honorifics (and some specific ones, but that's neither here nor there) come from Xerxes, and that Xerxian was a form of latinized Greek, hence κύριε remaining as an honorific. 
> 
> As for May's accent catching on the "r" sound in κύριε because Chinese lacks the rolled r sound, so when she says it, it sounds like "key-rih-eh"


	8. July 1st, 1917 – January 1st, 1918

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general warning for discussion of the Ishvalan War and genocide (Some of July 1st, most of August 14th, and a little of October 30th), and a less severe warning that this chapter is filled to the brim with science/alchemy/chem jargon as well as economic jargon.

_ July 1st, 1917 _

* * *

It was both a surprise and not one when Winry realized that she got more Ishvalan patronage than any other group of people. 

A surprise, because from what she knew of their culture, the Ishvalan people were (understandably) hesitant to  _ get  _ automail transplants,  _ and  _ she was an Amestrian doing the procedure and running the store. 

Understandably, they wouldn’t  _ exactly  _ **_jump_ ** to have someone like her near them doing such a sensitive operation. Yet, in spite of all these factors, the numbers didn’t lie. She glanced over the simplified “ledger” she had made for quick browsing:

_ June, 1917 _

_Ishvalan – 20 patrons – Avg. Spent_ § _1,500.81 –_ _Most Common Service: Automail Repair_

_ Amestrian – 10 patrons – Avg. Spent  _ § _ 5,000. 92 – Most Common Service: Automail Repair _

_ Cretan - 3 patrons - Avg. Spent  _ § _ 520.35 – Most Common Service: Buying Independent Parts _

_ Xingese – 1 patron – Avg. Spent  _ § _ 50,056.23 – Most Common Service: Automail Surgery (Right Lower Leg) _

_ Aerugonian – 0 patrons – Avg. Spent  _ § _ 0.00 – Most Common Service: N/A _

It was an interesting anomaly at the end of the day, but Winry wasn’t Colonel Hughes, she didn’t get paid to investigate anomalies, she got paid to perform maintenance on automail and graft said automail to the bodies of the people that needed it.

Still, Winry couldn’t help her curiosity when one of her regulars, a Mr. Waliedine Lahlou came in for a tune up late in the day. 

“Elanise Rockbell.” He greeted. Winry smiled brightly at him and waved him over to the back room.

“Good to see you Mr. Lahlou, how’s the arm? Giving you any more trouble around the joints? You  _ have  _ been oiling it the way I showed you?”

“It’s been doing me fine, no more trouble, in fact all the young men curse me behind my back because I’m so strong!” He bragged. “And don’t worry Elanise, I’ve been oiling it just like you said, 3 parts of that oil you gave me, only 1 part that solution you gave me, the stuff that smells kind of like the sugary fluff you Amestrians sell on the streets. Said it’ll last me for a week, and it did more than just that.” He chuckled. 

“No light-headedness? Any visits to the doctor in the past few weeks for drowsiness or stomach problems?”

“Healthy as ever.” 

“Well, I just want to make sure. These chemicals aren’t the safest materials on the planet, honestly, I can’t wait until they finally come up with a new solvent for these oils. I don’t like putting my customers in danger.”

“Really? One would think you would encourage it because otherwise you’d lose out on profits!” The man laughed, detaching his arm and setting it on the spot on the counter where Winry had placed lots of paper to soak up any leaking oil. Giving it a quick glance over for any obvious problems in the chassis, Winry poked and prodded at it with her diamond tipped scalpel (a gift courtesy of Ed and Al), noting where and how it bent, as well as the general wear and tear. 

“You can take a seat Mr. Lahlou.” Winry said sheepishly as she noticed the man still standing there, smiling genially. She gestured with her empty hand at the small corner she had refurbished a few months back. The space was tiny, really only fit to accommodate 4 or 5 people at a time, but the chairs were comfortable, and the area had a large window, perfect for looking out at the busy streets of Central while reading a newspaper or waiting for Winry to finish up with her repairs. She was thinking of expanding it more, but that would have to wait until she made enough money/saw enough traffic to make it practical.

“No, no, I like seeing a master at her trade.”

“I can’t really be considered a master Sir.” She demurred. “My grandmother’s the real master in the family, this can really only be considered my apprenticeship test.”

“Your grandmother must have great trust in you then, I know my own mudaris would never have allowed me to go on such an undertaking for my own apprenticeship, and I was the best of his class.”

“Oh, what did you do?” 

“I was a glassworker, our workshop specialized in stained-glass.” Winry remembered seeing pictures in books of the beautiful stained-glass windows that were present in many Ishvalan centers of worship, she had always liked to trace the stark black lines when she was younger. As she continued to work on the arm, she found it sad that it was likely that the evidence of this man’s hard work had probably been destroyed in the war. 

“Do you continue to make stained-glass?” She asked. 

“Not so much anymore, my old bones aren’t so good for the delicate touch of glassmaking, besides, what use does Amestris have for a craftsman like me when you have alchemists who will do the job for cheaper?”

“I think there is a certain… personal touch that you won’t get if you go with an alchemist’s work.” Winry argued, and no offense to Ed or Al, but it was  _ true.  _ Why did they think there weren’t many alchemists who took up automail work? You couldn’t just  _ transmute  _ someone an arm and be done with it, there were  _ so many little things  _ that went into making a good piece of automail that couldn’t be solved by transmutations. “Like your arm.” She said, finally cutting it open with her carburized saw (again, a present from Ed and Al). “No alchemist would be able to make this, at least, not on their own. There’s so much more that goes into things like this that it would be impractical to draw an array for it.”

“Are you an alchemist?”

“No, but I have friends that are.” Winry explained. Pulling out a pair of tweezers, she held a few wires apart as she looked for any broken, pinched, or fraying wires. “Well, the wiring looks good, but the chassis won’t hold up. I think you’re due for a refit.”

“Can I get that done today then?”

“Of course, but I’ll need you to come in the back with me, I won’t be doing surgery, but I’ll need to see the fit of the holder, as well as spend awhile refitting wiring and—” She cut herself off as she realized that she was rambling. “That, and the back offers some privacy, just let me flip the sign out front so no one comes in.” As Mr. Lahlou shuffled off to the back, Winry winced at the idea of having to close up. She needed to hire someone, and  _ soon _ , she couldn’t afford to keep closing up shop for just one customer when there were other products and services she could be selling. 

Grabbing her tool box, Winry also headed into the back.

* * *

“...If you don’t mind me asking...” Winry started to say as she studied the fit of the socket and the fit of the holder. Tapping at the metal holder with the diamond tipped scalpel, Winry noted that it was scratched when she tapped. 

“Go ahead.”

“Well… What as Ishval like… before the war?” Winry asked, withdrawing a little. 

“...What was Ishval like?” He asked absentmindedly, as though remembering something buried deep in his past. Winry scooted back into position, deciding that he wasn’t going to lash out or get angry at her for asking. “...That’s a question I don’t think I’ve ever been asked, not by an Amestrian at any rate.”

“...I can only imagine.” She said in lieu of what she wanted to say: “ _ Well, I want to know. I want to know the land my parents died in. I want to know the people my parents risked their lives to save. _ ”

“I don’t fault your people, don’t sound so somber.” He rebuked. “I know Amestris, your government was never too keen on you learning much about other cultures, lets you keep the hate nice and high.” He sighed. “Ah, not that I can say much, all countries are like that in a way, Ishval’s no exception.”

“Oh?” Winry picked up a sheet of titanium and compared it to the likely iron and steel mixture of the holder. It looked like those bolts on his chest would need a refit come 2 or 3 years time, but for now they’d keep, and that was the most important thing. She wrote it down on a notepad to be compiled in her summary for the visit. 

“Ishval’s always been a changin’ land, first it was a bunch of tribes, like you Amestrians, then those tribes coalesced, and came together as one until one bad seed of a prince sent us all scattering to the winds again.” He sighed deeply. “Then Xerxes rose up out of the desert and built its empire, that was the end of the first era of Ishval.”

“First era?”

“There’s been 3 such eras in Ishvalan history, we call the first the Taforalt Age, after the oldest site that has survived those times. The second era we merely refer to as the Age of Xerxes, and the last and most current era is this one, the Qudurạt. If I recall correctly, it translates to potential in Amestrian.” 

“So the Taforalt,” Winry struggled to wrap her tongue around the foreign syllables— “Can be summed up as an age where Ishval was  _ dis _ united AKA the stretch of time from antiquity to about the Second Xerxian Empire, and the Age of Xerxes can be summed up as the period of time from Xerxes’ ascension to its decline, what Amestris would call the Golden Age of Xerxes?”

“That sounds about right.” He agreed. “But back to your original question, Ishval… The land of my birth has always been harsh to its inhabitants, and its inhabitants are sturdy people because of it, but do not mistake sturdiness for harsh people, or even people who hold disdain against outsiders. After all, you do not survive the desert alone, you must rely on the bonds of clan and kin. However, our reliance upon those bonds has often been twisted many a time. Back in the Taforalt Age, some of your Eastern tribes, their names escape me, actually travelled with some of our ancestor clans. Then a man who we only refer to as Salé in our legends arrived, a little boy prince, scimitar in one hand, olive branch in the other. I’m sure you understand my meaning.”

_ War and misfortune to his enemies, peace and friendship to those who submitted.  _ Winry gulped, but kept working, removing the old gel liner and replacing it with a new one. “I’ve heard the name before, but in a history book, a retelling of an old Eastern legend...” 

She tried to recall it: “A man called Auletes and a man called Salé walked together each was dressed in his respective sheepskin and tanned leather, at the time when dark met day and sun banished starlight. It is said, that at that time, man could do battle with even the gods and win. It is a time of in-betweens, of muddled truths and blurred lines. This makes it a very well-chosen time for negotiation, for that is the art of navigating the in-betweens. So, Auletes they say, asked of Salé if he wanted to barter. 

‘What for?’ Asked Salé. ‘Do we not have all we could wish for?’ Auletes said that he had something that Salé would truly want to barter for. ‘Do your best!’ Salé had laughed. Auletes took from a pocket over his breast, a thin knife. 

‘I won this off of Glaphyra. It is claimed to let you win all battles and fights.’ Salé laughed and jostled Auletes playfully. 

‘I have no need for such a tool. My strength is plenty to subdue anything that should bring me harm.’ Auletes thought, and withdrew a thin paper, a transmutation circle drawn upon it. 

‘Xerxes bequeathed upon me this, an array that will allow you to alter the world as you see fit.’ Salé frowned and dismissed it. 

‘I would rather be damned than accept a thing of Xerxes’ making, I have my own pride you see? Unlike you Auletes, I wear no yolk. I am my own master. Furthermore, I have no use for alchemy, Ishvala has fashioned this world, it is not for us to alter it.’ It is said that Auletes was offended by this claim, as he fashioned himself a free man, and no slave of Xerxes. He also fashioned himself a sort of alchemist, but that is a story for another time. As they walked together, Auletes kept showing Salé his possessions, and Salé would dismiss them. Eventually, they came upon a spot at which they could rest, and Auletes asked Salé about the worth of his next possession. 

‘I have, blessed upon me by the gods, many kin and friends, would you accept this as being worth more than your own possessions?’ It is said that Salé had laughed at his proposition. 

‘Your so-called friends are not, they will happily betray you, they care not for you, not truly. You are bound by mere pieces of paper. Your kin destroy themselves even now, and soon you will be the last.’ Auletes nodded. 

‘Yes, soon I may be the last. But I am not  _ you  _ Salé, who is alone even now, unable to see the value in any and all things, so self-assured you are.’ With that, Auletes bade Salé goodbye.’’ Winry whispered. “It’s supposed to be a moral on the importance of not throwing away gifts by being too arrogant.”

“The fable is almost the same in my home, but in the end, Auletes is ambushed by a jealous passerby, and robbed, and none of his kin or friends helped him. The moral is that it is better to rely upon your Ishvala-given strength, rather than shallow mortal possessions or the fragile bonds of friendship.”

“Well, it only makes sense, it’s the same tale but adapted for different cultures.” She privately wondered which version was the original version of the tale, but she didn’t ask. 

“Salé, in the legends, it is said that he unified the tribes of Ishval and spread the word of Ishvala. It was he who you could say was the first ‘modern’ Ishvalan in a sense.” Winry adjusted the ball joint of the automail arm as she listened to him continue. “While obviously time has made a difference in our lifestyles somewhat, the lives and customs of ancient Ishvalans are more or less the same as they are now, with perhaps more raiding back then than now.”

“Raiding?”

“Well Salé didn’t unify all of Ishval in one go, and there were certainly raids from your Eastern tribes, not to mention some of the border clans of Xing.”

“And Ishval endured through all that?” Winry asked, eyes wide. 

“Well, they didn’t call our lands the Graveyard of Empires for nothing.” He smiled. “Of course, that reputation didn’t hold up in the end… But I shan’t dwell on such sad things for now. My culture is still alive and well, and that is what’s important. As long as Ishvalans remember their roots, Ishval will never truly die.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Winry said, finally putting the finishing touches on Mr. Lahlou’s automail. “Ah, bite down on this—” she handed him a clean rag— “I’ll count down from three before I reattach it. 3. 2. 1.” She reattached the arm, and watched his face. She noted the small spasm that was elicited out of him as the automail went live, and noted that down on the notepad too. “I’ll meet you out in the front in a few minutes, feel free to take a minute or two to catch your breath here.”

She wrote up her summary of the visit, only having to glance at the big book that listed everything that had to be accounted for in her write-up, having done it so many times over the last 6 months that it was just rote by now. As she finished signing and stamping it, Winry noticed that Mr. Lahlou had finally come out of the back. “Here you go Sir, that’ll be 10,438.26 cenz.” Winry said promptly, after consulting her charts. The man handed her the money, and as soon as Winry verified that it was all there, she gave him a bright smile. “Well then Mr. Lahlou, have a nice day.”

“You have a nice day too Elanise Rockbell, and if you’re still interested in learning more about Ishval, you should consult one of the local Ishvalan libraries, they’re always eager to teach.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She followed him out, so that she could change the sign back, and there was a part of her that couldn’t help but be happy when she realized that no one had been looking at either her or Mr. Lahlou strangely as they walked out of the clinic together. 

Amestris really was getting better day by day. As she went back inside, her eyes landed on the photo Colonel Hughes had taken before he and Brigadier General Mustang and his team left for Ishval. A smile bloomed on her face, as she recalled Ed’s promise.

_ “We’re gonna make it so that the Ishvalan people have their home back, just you see.”  _ He had yelled from the back of the jeep he was in, surprising Winry, Al, and the crowd of people that had been milling about. Sure she had heard grumbles once the jeep was out of earshot, lots of: “Who does he think he is” and “Who cares about the Ishvalans” and even a “They lost, so they don’t deserve their land back”. But even among the nasty comments, there had been positive ones, even some remorseful ones. 

“ _ I never doubted that you would. _ ” Her own reply echoed in her mind as she busied herself with tidying up the front of the clinic. A sigh escaped her lips. Ed had already been gone for a month now, with a good 5 still left to go.

It already felt like an eternity this past month without him, and there were still  _ 5  _ to go? Sure, she could call once they managed to get the electricity set up, but it just wasn’t the same. Plopping down in one of the chairs, Winry admitted it to herself:

She missed Ed.

* * *

_August 14th, 1917_

* * *

Ed had clearly underestimated the sheer  _ heat  _ Ishval exuded. He rested nearly all his weight on the shovel he had been loaned.

“Ugh...” He groaned, desperately wanting to take off the heavy white cloak, but he knew that if he did it’d only get  _ hotter.  _ “When are we getting water?” He asked.

“In another hour Elric.” Major Miles said, and Ed glared at him, annoyed that the man didn’t even  _ look  _ to be even  _ warm,  _ let alone sweating bullets.

“Oh, kill me now.” Ed gritted out, raising a hand to wipe away the sweat building up on his forehead. 

“I’m afraid that I am no longer in that line of work, alchemist.” And maybe if Ed wasn’t still terrified of Scar then he’d aim a glare at him  _ too _ , but he was, and he didn’t. “We are almost done for the day besides, so there is no need to keep complaining.”

“Just yell if you need me to excavate something else.” Ed gritted out, then hid himself back under the protective covering of the white cloak. Silence quickly descended upon the area, and Ed was almost lulled to sleep when he heard metal scrape against metal in that  _ really  _ annoying way where it sounded like fingernails on a damn chalkboard. He heard someone (most likely Miles) yelling in Ishvalan, and Ed knew that it would be his time to shine once more.

Shrugging off the shielding white cloak was no easy task, as it was really heavy, as in “probably the equivalent weight of his automail _leg_ ” heavy. Or... maybe that was just the heat talking, who really knew? He finally got it off though, and glanced around at his surroundings. Miles and Scar were leaning over something he couldn’t see. “You need my alchemy?”

“Yes, we need it now Elric.” The Major said, gesturing for Ed to walk over. He obliged, and studied the hole in the sandstone. 

“Alright everyone, step back, how deep and wide do I need to make this sucker?” Ed asked, cracking his knuckles. Scar and Miles quickly backpedaled, and Ed was acutely aware of the rest of the Ishvalan contingent with them vacating the immediate area. 

Well, he couldn’t quite blame them, the  _ last  _ time Ishval had seen any big alchemical action… Well… 

_ Their entire country got razed to the ground?  _ Yeah, that. Still, he had hoped that since he had been assigned as an attaché for the last month, they’d have gotten used to alchemy, hell,  _ Scar _ used his alchemy on the few occasions when Ed was too tired to do a transmutation. 

“Aim for around 3 meters wide, 10 meters deep!” Miles called out. He clapped his hands and touched the weathered stone, watching as it warped and deformed, forming a deep pit. 

“Alright done. What’s down there anyways?” He asked, only being able to make out what  _ looked  _ like it could be a statue made of some sort of silvery type metal. 

“A statue, long thought lost to Amestrian hands.” Scar intoned, and Ed felt his hackles rise almost automatically. There were a  _ lot  _ of things one could lay at the feet of Amestris and have it be  _ true _ , but to say that soldiers were going around looting and pillaging…

Well, Ed clamped down on his temper before it could cause an incident. 

“Do you need me to sink more of the sandstone, so that it all levels out? We can get the statue out easier that way.” Ed stated, patting the pale sandstone. 

“Go ahead Elric.” Ed clapped, pressed his hands down to the stone, and then backed up as the stone eroded away, building itself up at the bottom of the pit, making the statue rise up to ground level. He saw a few of the younger Ishvalans in the group watching the process almost studiously. Well, that in and of itself could just be simple curiosity, but if Ed knew young, ambitious teenagers (and he would bet a lot of money on _ that _ assertion), then simple curiosity would soon turn into “I wonder if I can do that.”

He just hoped it wouldn't cause too many clashes between them and their parents, who probably held tightly onto old Ishvalan traditions. One of those traditions being  _ no alchemy.  _ Now that the statue was up, Ed realized that it was actually just silver  _ coated _ , with the majority of it being worn marble. He reached out to touch it, but yanked his arm away as someone shouted in panicked Ishvalan, which, to be fair, Ed should have expected what with Scar’s explanation as to what had been in the pit. Deciding that if the Ishvalan contingent were going to react like that if he tried to examine the statue, Ed decided to leave the touching and examining to someone else, and wandered over to Major Miles’ side.

“...Was this the only piece of art lost during the war?”

“No, but the category of recovery depends on what you define lost  _ as. _ ” Ed winced, recalling a scene during the ride to the site, where he saw a building that had clearly been caught in the midst of a battle between a State Alchemist and Ishvalan forces. It had been caved in on one side, the stained-glass windows shattered and nearly all were dust. The architecture of the building hadn’t come out unscathed in the semi-intact parts either, the patterns and columns all warped and half changed to other materials.

“Right. Well, I meant more the general, ‘lost my keys’ kinda lost. Basically, anything like the statue get buried under half a ton of sand that got turned to stone?”

“Likely there are hundreds of such pieces. Some sources say that even an entire city was lost, though that was located at the heart of Ishval, where the Asotic Alchemist worked—” And wasn’t  _ that  _ a fucking shocker.

“Asotic?!” Ed whisper-yelled. “As in  _ Lukas Steinberg,  _ the guy who runs the damn flower shop on 16th and Reeds, just before you hit the Bridge? The guy who’s main solution to his arrays is ‘graft another nitride group on it’?  _ That guy  _ made a whole damn city just sink into the ground, with no rubble left behind? That’s… That’s not possible, not with his skill set.”

“Elric, I understand that you might not want to directly confront—”

“Bullshit.” Ed snapped. “This isn’t about my Amestrian pride or whatever the fuck, I’m telling you, I’ve seen that man in action, and Asotic’s alchemy works by adding nitrogen onto more nitrogen and then splitting those bonds apart so that they make a big angry explosion, or, now that he’s retired and all, by dumping all that nitrogen into soil so his plants become fuck off huge and therefore make him  _ tons of cash. _ ” 

He sighed, remorse filling his tone. “Look, all I’m saying is that it doesn’t seem likely that Steinberg did it. He might have! I don’t know, I didn’t live here, and I wasn’t here when he was out on tour. For all I know, he  _ did  _ do it, and somehow he didn’t leave any evidence behind that he did it. For all  _ you  _ know Major, the city got caught up in the transmutations from whatever earth alchemists were in the area, and  _ they  _ sunk it. Maybe it got swept up in displacement of sand and rock, hell, maybe it was just blown up and people didn’t see it right, that  _ happens _ .” He gestured to the statue. “Scar said everyone thought  _ that  _ had ended up in Amestrian hands, so it could be that the city’s the same deal. Everything thinks it’s one thing, and it turns out that it’s another.”

“It will be hard to prove  _ Lieutenant Colonel _ .” Ooh, the rank, so scary. 

“So are a lot of things worth doing  _ Major _ , and a lot of the things worth doing, are worth doing them  _ right _ the first time.” He gazed forlornly at the gaggle of Ishvalans crowded around the statue, chattering excitedly to each other. “We have one chance to not fuck up Amestrian and Ishvalan relations. I don’t want to encourage rumors that Amestris plundered and pillaged Ishval when that didn’t happen. Bradley wanted Ishval  _ razed _ , its culture  _ destroyed _ . No one was looking around trying to steal artifacts, and I  _ wish  _ I could say that they did for the right reasons, but it’s all too likely that they didn’t.” Ed slumped down to the ground, and picked up his neglected cloak. 

“I see your point Elric.”

“...I just want a future where Ishval and Amestris can co-exist.”

“Well, if you want that future Lieutenant Colonel—” Miles dropped the abandoned shovel in front of him— “You’d better start digging. We have to do this one step at a time, and that means we have to first dig up what is left of Ishval.”

“And then we work on correcting the record and restoring these artifacts?”

“And then we work on correcting the record and restoring the artifacts.”

* * *

August 15th, 1917

* * *

Now that Ed was off in Ishval and Winry was more often occupied with her shop than not, Al found himself with extraordinary amounts of time to himself. Not wanting to stay in the lonely apartment, he often spent it visiting the Hughes’ family home and learning new recipes with Mrs. Hughes and Elicia, or guest lecturing at one of the universities in the area to earn some money on the side and keep himself feeling useful. 

But more often than not, he found himself in the Central Military Library, hunkered down in a pile of books, researching problems that alchemy couldn’t fix. At least not immediately. A good example were the chimeras he and Ed had met during their quest to stop Father, their chimeraism wasn’t something that alchemy knew how to fix, at least not  _ right now.  _

But he wasn’t just researching problems and how to fix them, but rather learning as much about the science as he could. There was still so much to be discovered, and it intrigued Al. For instance, how much depth and breadth could affect the end product of an array. 

He and Brother were (and Al would freely admit this, unlike Ed) were generalists. Their depth in many alchemical fields were more comparable to novices than geniuses, though granted that was more a side effect of having to learn these new fields quickly and shallowly to see if they would help them in their search rather than sitting down and  _ learning  _ them. Even so, he knew that they had their own specialties, Brother had no parallel in manipulating steel and other metals (except perhaps in either the Inox or Ferrum Alchemists, but they were both specialists of a specialty, and therefore, didn’t really count), while he often preferred working with asphalt, stone, and any other material that a person could reasonably term as “the ground”.

While Al had never seen a true difference in transmutation products back 6 years ago when Brother had challenged Major Armstrong to an impromptu alchemy match, Al had reasonably chalked it up due to the power Ed was sending through the array, as well as the general increase in power that came from using arrayless alchemy. 

After all, there was a  _ reason  _ he and Brother could go toe to toe with many  _ adults  _ (many of whom had studied their field of expertise for longer than he and Brother had been alive  _ combined _ ) and still win, and it wasn’t just because they were prodigies. Arrayless alchemy was more powerful, period, and that extra power made up for any deficiencies their transmutations might otherwise have. Of course, them being prodigies helped too, since they just  _ had  _ a naturally larger pool to draw from than most people.

But even power wouldn’t save them from the  _ real  _ specialists. While Al hated to make a distinction based on no real evidence, he couldn’t deny that there was certainly a gap between some people who could be considered specialists and others. Ferrum and Inox for example, they both more or less specialized in the same field, but Inox was still feared by Creta after his display of power during the border war, and Ferrum was regarded as little more than an eccentric. 

Another example that quickly came to mind was Brigadier General Mustang (Or was he of a higher rank now? The process of being promoted after a… (Al charitably called it unjustified, Ed used curses) rank freeze confused him). Al recalled asking the then Lieutenant Colonel Hughes how his alchemy worked after his and Brother’s alchemy match (Al still didn’t know  _ why  _ Bradley had approved, maybe the homunculus had just wanted to see who would win out in a match should he ever pit Mustang and Ed against each other?) and while the older man hadn’t revealed  _ much _ , what he _had_ revealed was enlightening.

“ _ Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?” Al asked as he walked into the man’s office. _

_ “Oh, it’s just you Alphonse, yes, yes, come on in!” He waved him in, and gestured to the chair. “Sit, sit, what did you come looking for me for? Don’t tell me Roy and the rest sent you up here to do their dirty work _ — _ ” _

_ “Er, no Sir, I went looking for you to ask you a question.” _

_ “Oh, is that so? Well ask away, and did you want to look at some pictures of Elicia in the meantime? She’s absolutely adorable!” Al didn’t want to say no, lest he hurt the bespectacled man in the process, so he reluctantly accepted the photos. While the Lt. Colonel’s baby girl  _ **_was_ ** _ cute, Al had also seen her photos so many times he could reliably tell the relative date of the pictures and that was a sign that he had seen her photos far too many times. Handing them back, Al fidgeted in the chair, unsure of how to word his question. “Something wrong Al?” _

_ “No… It’s just… Well, it’s kind of a hard question to word...” _

_ “Well, I’m always here to listen Al. Take as much time as you need. Or well, as much time as we can get before someone comes looking for us. Most likely your brother.” _

_ “I think Brother is still in the infirmary…” The older man inclined his head as if to say “Right, I should have realized that.” _

_ “So, your question?” _

_ “How does Colonel Mustang’s alchemy work?” _

_ “Wouldn’t you be better off asking that question to the man himself?” _

_ “Everyone says that he keeps the secret to his alchemy close to his chest, and I’m not Brother, I’m not going to steal his notes just to satisfy my curiosity. And you’re his best friend, I’m sure he’s told you a little...” The black haired man burst into laughter. _

_ “Ah, don’t take this the wrong way Al, but I honestly think alchemy’s a bit on the freakish side, and Roy knows that, he’s not gonna sit me down for an explanation on his weirdo profession. All I know’s the basic stuff, that he concentrates oxygen paths and ignites those with a spark. Bam, fire.” Al had been slightly put out, and he had tried appealing to Hughes’ position as Head of Investigations to try and get more information, but the man had legitimately given up all he had known about the subject. _

As the years went on, Al had learned more about the man’s alchemy, but even still, it wasn’t much beyond the simple explanation he had been given all those years ago. But even so, Al  _ knew  _ he belonged in the category of  _ real  _ specialists (again, if there even was such a category to begin with). Just looking at his motions as he performed his alchemy was enough to signal that there was a gap in power. A  _ wide  _ one. 

The Brigadier General’s transmutations (at least when confined to the realm of Flame Alchemy) didn’t have a discharge. That was an anomaly amongst alchemists,  _ everyone’s  _ transmutations made a discharge, including his, Brother’s, and Teacher’s, so it wasn’t a clap alchemy thing, this was a  _ Roy Mustang specific _ thing, and Al figured he knew the answer.

It all lay in the fact that whenever Mustang used flame alchemy, he was using oxygen for a reactant, and  _ hydrogen  _ as fuel. A lightning strike after all, was caused by the equalization of two electrically charged areas. Normally that came in the form of a thundercloud with a positively charged upper half and a negatively charged lower half hovering over the positively charged surface. In alchemy, that came in the form of protons and electrons flying every which way as the elements in the substance they were transmuting changed form. 

And  _ protons  _ of course, were most commonly represented by hydron. H+. So a cation of  _ hydrogen _ , was being tossed around every time an alchemist completed a transmutation. 

And flame alchemy, despite the name, was primarily a method of  _ atmospheric  _ transmutation. Al could have slapped himself silly for not realizing it before.  _ Of course  _ there was no way for flame alchemy to have  _ discharge _ , the equations probably took into account the hydrogen that would be floating around because otherwise the oxygen paths would run straight on into fuel that would be  _ right in front of the alchemist _ . So that meant that whenever Mustang snapped, there existed a  _ chance _ for everything to go catastrophically wrong and blow everyone within 2 meters of him sky-high. Suddenly Al figured that no, maybe his brother was correct and that flame alchemy was dumb and anyone who decided to tango with  _ that  _ particular grenade was  _ exceptionally dumb  _ and Mustang had the luck of the  _ gods  _ for somehow having the skill to not pull the pin on said grenade  _ every time he performed alchemy.  _

But he digressed. Breadth and depth were obviously important to end products. How important, Al couldn’t say. It was obvious that the  _ depth  _ of experience that the Brigadier General had with flame alchemy was the thing that kept him from blowing himself up every time he snapped, and that his lack of  _ breadth  _ was why he only made a stone pillar instead of something stronger when defending against Father.

On the flip side of the coin, Al’s own vaster  _ breadth  _ but shallower  _ depth  _ had put him at a disadvantage against enemies like Isaac McDougal, who were able to take to higher ground on sturdier materials than he. Similarly, Brother didn’t fare too well against Kimblee, who’s better  _ depth  _ of understanding his own alchemy outmatched Brother’s vast  _ breadth.  _

Al put down his notebook, and picked up another heavy tome to settle it on his lap, flipping it open, ready to discover and learn more about the science he loved.

* * *

_October 30th, 1917_

* * *

Ed had never missed Resembool as much as he did now. Hell, he would take Central or East City, as long as he was  _ out  _ of this desert. He just wanted to go home, he didn’t want any more part in this, his promises be damned. He heaved a sigh, knowing that that wasn’t true… But it didn’t change his feelings any. He wanted to be  _ home _ , with Winry and Den and Al and Granny Pinako. He wanted the familiar sights of concrete buildings rising high into the sky, people milling about on the streets as the MPs tried to hurry the flow of traffic along; he wanted to sit at the outside tables of the Cretan place next to the “Kissing Bridge” and watch as people new to East City found themselves having to do stupidly sharp turns as they biked across, he wanted to bury himself in books in the Central Military Library. 

It was selfish of him, he knew, because there were so many people’s hopes and dreams and  _ livelihoods  _ riding on this project, hell, the revitalization of an entire  _ country  _ was riding on this, but all Ed wanted was for it to just come to an  _ end. _ He was sick to death of being ostracized for being an alchemist, sick of the hurtful words tossed at the people he considered friends, and he was at his rope’s end with the local leaders for stalling them  _ every single chance they got.  _

“Hey there Ed. Mind if I take a seat?”

“Sure Colonel.” Ed let the word roll off his tongue. Colonel. It felt strange using it to address Hughes in particular. Maybe it was because it was the in between, the state he should have earned just months from being sent into a coma, the rank the military had skipped over when they declared him dead and promoted him. “It’s not like anyone’s stopping you from sitting.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Hughes leaned over, green eyes searching. “So. What’s got you in a funk?”

“I am  _ not  _ in a funk.” —He hadn’t gotten a letter from Winry in  _ weeks _ , was she okay? Were her letters just not getting through? And Al’s last letter had only said that he was getting in contact with the chimeras, nothing else, was he trying to hide something— “I’m just… worried about things.”

“I hope you’re not worried about us—” _Of course I am. You, Hawkeye and Mustang are the biggest targets Grumman could’ve thrown at this place. Don’t you see them? They hate you guys, if it wasn’t for the fact that killing you all would spark a war, I’m sure you’d be dead by now. Worst part is, I can’t even really blame them, is this what it’s like to be an adult? To know the people you love are shitty people but you love them anyways_ — “We’re adults, we can take care of ourselves.”

“I’m an adult.” Ed argued. “I’m in the military, aren’t I?”

“Nah, still a kid. If that excuse actually counted for something, I’m pretty sure you’d be an adult at  _ 12 _ .” Hughes ruffled his hair, and Ed smacked his hand away, shooting the man a baleful glare. 

“I’m not short.”

“Never said you were Ed.” Hughes grinned toothily. He’d seen that grin on Mustang a lot, whenever the man teased him about his height. Figures that the pair of them would hold the same sense of humor. 

“You know what you meant.” Ed huffed. “But no. I guess I’m just homesick is all.”

Hughes then suddenly sat up ram-rod straight, and he was reaching into his pockets. Ed tried to scramble to his feet, but coma or no coma affecting his reaction time, Hughes was freakishly fast, and he had gotten Ed’s feet out from under him, and then he’d done  _ something  _ where Ed was now in a fast hold, and Hughes’ unoccupied hand was inching towards his pocket.

“Hughes, come on!” He tried to squirm away, but no, the black haired man was holding on tight.

“Nooo~! The best cure for feeling homesick is pictures of home, and I’ve got plenty! And alongside those are, of course, pictures of my  _ lovely  _ wife and  _ adorable  _ daughter!” He squealed, and shoved a photo of Elicia, tooth missing in her brilliant smile in Ed’s face. “She’s missed her  _ big bwothers so muuuch~ _ ”

“That—!” Ed struggled again, levering his automail leg so that it was practically jack hammering Hughes’ own, but either he wasn’t letting on that he was feeling the pain or Hughes had bones of steel, because the man. Refused. To. Budge! “That’s not allowed! You aren’t allowed to guilt trip me with Elicia! We established this, go ask the rest of ‘em!”

“Oh, well if Elicia is off limits—” And oh, Ed did  _ not  _ like that tone in Hughes’ voice at  _ all _ — Hughes withdrew a photo, Ed only saw a brief glance of honey blonde hair and sky blue eyes before everything went straight to shit:

His hands had finally come together to clap, and he pressed down hard on the sandstone, forcing him and Hughes apart via spontaneous stalagmite formation. Hughes, to his credit, was barely fazed, as he just stood up and dusted himself off. “Well, I think that means my job is done here.”

“I’m  _ sorry? _ ” What exactly had Hughes done? Assaulted Ed with pictures, sure, but he was acting like he had pulled off robbing the First Bank. 

“I’ll see you in for dinner later Ed! Oh, and this is yours to keep!” He tossed the picture to Ed, and he caught it automatically. “Now, since you have your own photos to fawn over, I don’t want to see you moping in the sand, you hear me young man?” Ed rolled his eyes at Hughes’ mock “stern father” voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Now are  _ you  _ the reason why I’m not getting my mail, or is that just Grumman being Grumman.”

“The latter of course! I don’t have any sort of incentive in preventing you two lovebirds from communicating! I already have one couple of idiots dancing around their feelings, no need for another one!” He laughed, heading back to base as Ed turned red, and sputtered objections about how “Winry and he  _ were not lovebirds, dammit Hughes!” _

* * *

_December 31st, 1917 – January 1st, 1918_

* * *

Aguillan was always Al’s favorite holiday, excluding birthdays of course. The novelty of the fairly calm winter season when compared to the rest of the year combined with the history of the holiday encouraging generosity and kindness… 

It was the perfect holiday for Al, and it broke his heart that for the longest while he hadn’t been able to celebrate it  _ properly _ with everyone sitting around a table as they laughed and celebrated the night away. Granted, they were missing a few people around this table due to obligations and travel times, but Al had prepared for that in advance, and had already sent off his gifts and well-wishes a week ago. 

Now, he found himself, bundled up tight at the insistence of both Brother and Winry, standing in front of the front door to the Hughes’ residence. Knocking smartly, he waited for either Mrs. Hughes or Elicia to open it. To his expectations, he heard a small scuffle behind the door, then a shout of “I’ll get it!” There was the dull sound of something scraping against the wood floor, and Al politely stepped back so that Elicia could get a better view of him. He heard a small squeal of excitement, then the same scraping sound before the door flung open. 

“Big Brother Al!” She flung herself at him, and he pretended to stagger under her weight as he hoisted her up. 

“Good Morning Elicia. You’ve grown, haven’t you?” He set her down, closing the door behind him and taking off his boots before patting her on the head. “I remember when you didn’t even reach my knee!”

“That’s cheating Big Brother! You used to be really  _ really  _ tall, then you shrunk!” Her green eyes widened. “Is that what happened to Big Brother Ed?” She asked, her voice barely higher than a whisper, like she had found some terrible secret. “Did he use to be super tall, and then he shrank? Is that gonna happen to me too?”

“No Elicia,” Al comforted the young girl. “That won’t happen to you.” The ten-year-old brightened considerably at his reassurances, and Al smiled back at her. “Is your mom in the kitchen?” She nodded. “Alright, well you should put back the chair now, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen with your mom.”

“Are you making the festmahl?” Elicia asked. “Mom says that she asked for help this year since we’re gonna...” She paused, searching for the word. “Uh, host! Host a lot of people this year.”

“Yep! I’m helping your mom out this year, are you going to be helping too?”

“I don’t like cooking, it makes you get all hot and sticky, and I don’t like that!” She said, whining a little. Al had to bite back a chuckle. “Besides, Daddy says that I don’t have to worry about cooking when I grow up, since he’ll do all the cooking for me!” Al had to hide a wince at that one. Everyone knew that the Colonel wasn’t exactly the  _ best  _ cook around, and he was fairly certain that Mrs. Hughes was the one who did all the cooking in the household, which meant that Elicia had never  _ actually  _ tasted her father’s cooking. 

Well… In time she’d probably revise her position. Probably. 

He patted her on the head again, and walked into the kitchen. 

“Hello Mrs. Hughes.” Al greeted. 

“Morning Alphonse, you can place all your things on the coat rack if you haven’t already.” she gestured to her left, and Al obliged her, taking off his cap, gloves, and thick coat and placing them on the wooden rack. “Wash up and then you can come help me with this goose.”

“Alright Mrs. Hughes, oh, do you know when everyone else is showing up? I know Brother and Winry will be running a little late, they said their train got slightly delayed what with the holiday rush and all.”

“Well Roy and Riza will get here at around 6 P.M., since they have their own celebrations with the men before heading here. My side of the family will be here in 4 hours, they like to get here early, my mother and brother like to help out with the cooking. Maes’ side of the family won’t get here until 5.” Al mentally logged those times, and then walked over to the sink to wash up. 

“Will everyone be bringing something over?” Al asked, remembering the tradition back in Resembool where everyone would bring at least one dish over. 

“Is that how you did it in Resembool?” She asked, in the middle of trussing the goose. 

“Yes, Granny, Winry and I would make stew and Brother was on pudding duty.”

“Wouldn’t he try and sneak some?” Mrs. Hughes laughed. 

“It has a lot of milk in it.” Al said. “And Brother  _ hates  _ milk.” 

“But doesn’t...stew have milk in it?”

“He’s okay with it in there for some reason, but I think Granny’s just never let him know that it has milk in it.” Al shrugged. “But I’m guessing then that here people don’t bring anything over?”

“Only occasionally, usually if they’re new to the city or it’s their first time celebrating Augillan with the host family. It’s tradition here for the host family to provide all the meals, it’s seen as a show of generosity.” Gracia explained. 

“It seems like a lot of work though.” Al could only imagine how much work he’d have to do if it was only him, Granny Pinako, Winry and Ed working to feed all of the village.

“It’s honestly not too bad, but that’s because our celebrations are all much smaller. If I remember, in Resembool you celebrate with the whole village right? So you make very large portions.” Al nodded. “Well, while it would be nice to make a lot of food, it would just result in a lot of leftovers, and it’s not common practice here to keep leftovers, so we make smaller portions, and that means that the host family doesn’t have too much of a burden on their shoulders, even if a lot of people show up.” 

“Oh, I understand.” Al said, sidling beside her, so he could start helping. “What did you want me to do first?”

“Well, the basting sauce is already done, and so is the stuffing, so I need your help in basting the goose, and once we get it in the oven, we’ll be working on the carp and ham. Once Maes gets home, and my family shows up we can start on dessert.”

“Could we start dessert a little early? Like, when we roast the carp, I think there’s a simple dessert that would be easy for Elicia to make, and it might get her interested in baking.” She smiled at him. 

“That sounds good, we can do that.” They then jumped into their respective tasks, Gracia finishing the trussing, and Al basting the goose carefully, and filling the pan with some of the chicken stock Mrs. Hughes had been using for the stuffing. With that done, Mrs. Hughes took over, putting the pan in the oven. 

“That’ll cook for 4 and a half hours just about.” She said. “Now it’s time for the carp. Can you handle the ham Al?” He nodded, having helped out Mrs. Kruize with her ham preparations back when he was smaller. “Good. Now it’s almost a quarter till 12… My brother and mother will be arriving soon.”

“Brother and Winry should also be getting here soon, I think they said their train should pull in at 2:30?”

“That reminds me, since you asked about bringing food, does that mean Edward and Winry will be bringing something along with them?”

“Oh yes, apparently it’s a specialty of Rush Valley, they call it a Bakewell Tart. Brother was singing its praises in his letter. It’s a dessert.”

“Well I suppose that gives us one less task to do then.” Gracia hummed. 

* * *

Al was unceremoniously kicked out of the kitchen once Mrs. Hughes’ family arrived. Luckily, he had already gotten Elicia’s impromptu baking lesson out of the way, otherwise he would have never been able to fit it in. 

He collapsed on the couch, feeling bone tired from rushing about the kitchen in the hours prior to their arrival. Just as he felt like he was about to drift off though, someone slammed the door open, and Elicia made a shout of joy.

“You’re back early!” So it was Colonel Hughes. He opened one tired eyes to watch as the older man cuddled Elicia close and kissed her on the cheek. 

“Oh, hey Al! I didn’t expect to see you here so early! I thought you were with Winry and Ed.”

“I left a day early, someone needed to be at Winry’s shop to make sure no one broke in.” He explained. 

“Ah, I see, I see.” He set Elicia down, and the young girl ran off to go fetch something, mostly likely a drawing to show her father. “So were you helping out in the kitchen?”

“Mhm.”

“Then you got kicked out, I assume?”

“That’d be a correct guess Colonel.” Al smiled tiredly. “Oh, I do have a question, is Mrs. Hughes’ family from Milos?”

“They are, how’d you know?”

“Brother and I visited there once, when we were looking for the stone.” He explained. 

“Right, right, Roy  _ did  _ mention that trip once or twice, though I think he had the impression of wanting to forget that it ever happened in the first place.”

“I think he just wanted to forget the paperwork that came along with the trip, since he had to deal with a lot of corrupt officials there.”

“That sounds plausible.” Hughes agreed. “So what time will the two lovebirds show up?”

“The train is supposed to get here at 2:30—” Mr. Hughes snorted at this, and Al chuckled— “And it’s about a… 40-minute walk from the station to here?”

“So, they should be here around 10 past 3, if they get lucky.”

“Brother’s luck is notoriously awful.”

“So make it 3:30. Well, at least the goose should be done cooking by then. Dunno about the other stuff though.”

“The carp should finish roasting at 5, the ham will be done at 6.” Al recited. “Part of dessert is already done, Brother and Winry have the rest.” He frowned. “What about drinks?”

“Roy and Riza usually bring the mulled wine, but Gracia and I have some sparkling juice for the kids—” He laughed at Al’s skeptical eyebrow— “and those who don’t want to drink alcohol, my folks will be bringing some cider with them, and if need be, the grocer will be open late tonight, so someone can always nip down and get a few bottles.”

“I guess that settles everything...” Al said. “Mr. Hughes, wake me up when Brother and Winry get here, I’m taking a nap.” Seconds afterwards, Al closed his eyes, and let himself drift off.

* * *

Someone had turned on the radio, Al realized as he heard the crackly voice of Oliver Wright floating in from the living room. 

_ “And here we are, fellow Amestrians, on the cusp of the new year! 1918 sure is lookin’ to be a good year for Amestris! We here at Capital Radio sure are having a blast!”  _ A chorus of slightly drunken cheers went up at his proclamation.  _ “And speaking of good years, welcome Führer-President George Grumman everybody!”  _ Loud, raucous applause erupted, briefly covering up the soft music that had been playing as background accompaniment.  _ “Ah, welcome, welcome Führer, it sure has been a wonderful year for  _ **_you_ ** _ in particular, just look at what you’ve accomplished this year! Ah, I can’t even remember it all, do us a favor and do a little bragging Sir!”  _ The music switched now, from the soft piano to a bombastic rendition of  _ Amestrian Centennial _ , the march reserved for the Führer-President. 

_ “Oh, I could never.”  _ Grumman chuckled.  _ “I can only state things as they did happen, I’m not in the business of braggadocios boasts.” _

_ “No, no, we insist! It’s good to brag a little Sir! What do we need to get in you so you can boast a little? Whiskey, beer? What’s your poison?” _

_ “I’ve always been partial to Van Der Heide’s brandy, I will not lie.”  _ There was the sound of Wright waving someone over to pour the Führer a finger or two of the brandy. _ “Ah, thank you young man. Well, now that I’ve accepted this, I suppose I cannot get out of bragging a little. What was the first thing I managed to get done this year? Was it the new tax cuts?”  _

_ “That sounds about right Sir.” _

_ “Right, then the tax cuts, my first piece of legislation this year. After those came the prosecution of those officers under Bradley’s regime who, while not directly involved in his schemes, were complicit in subverting the law and order of the nation.” _

_ “Good riddance to ‘em I say!” _

_ “Yes, yes… And oh, right the new business laws _ — _ ” _

_ “My wife said she wanted to thank you mightily after those ones Sir, really helped her get her boutique back on its feet, though I know some of those old automail manufacturers weren’t too happy for a while!” _

_ “Well, you can’t please everybody my wife used to say.” _

_ “A smart woman your wife. Oh, but you’re forgetting your biggest achievements Sir, the new diplomatic approach to foreign relations! You’ve done what many constituents thought was impossible!” _

_ “Oh, it was only my duty, I couldn’t in good conscience continue Bradley’s methodology of ‘war is but an extension of political discourse,’ not when I have seen first hand the consequences of such an ideology.”  _

_ “Of course, of course, and then there’s the Ishval Restoration Project, I’ve heard nothing but good things from both sides of the aisle on that one Sir, even your biggest critics  _ **_Amestris Landesweit_ ** _ are complimenting you on that one!” _

_ “Well, I can’t and shouldn’t take the credit, Brigadier General Mustang is working very hard to get the region back to its former glory.” _

_ “True that, well thank you for joining us today Führer Grumman, a pleasure to have you on, anything you would like to say to the people of Amestris before you retire to the mansion?” _

_ “Well, I have one thing Mr. Wright. To the people of Amestris, may you all have a happy new year.”  _ There were the scraping sounds of wood on wood and Grumman got up to leave. The studio quickly burst into excited chatter, that only quieted down as Wright brought order back. 

“ _ A thank you to our beloved Führer is in good order, hopefully, like the rest of us he will also have an amazing 1918. Now, it is 11:50 in the studio, a full 10 minutes until midnight and the beginning of a new year. Join me Amestris, as we welcome in a new age for this wonderful country of ours.  _ ” There was a crackle as someone changed the music that was playing, from  _ Centennial  _ to a swingy, syncopated rhythm that Al had only ever heard of in piano rags. “ _ This track’s called In the Mood. _ ” 

As the music continued to play, Al poured himself a cup of cider, and tried to find a place to sit where he wouldn’t be interrupting anyone. The adults were mostly in the living room, chatting about the radio segment, though he knew that the Hugheses (minus Elicia who was still in the living room, playing with her grandparents), Hawkeye and Mustang had split off to talk in the kitchen. He had no clue as to where Ed and Winry had gone off to, but he hoped that neither of them were getting drunk, since they’d have to walk home, and while the apartment they were renting wasn’t  _ far _ , Al didn’t want to run into any MPs with a drunk Ed or Winry. “ _ Alright everyone, our last song of 1917, Moonlight Serenade, get your loved ones close as we wave in the new year! _ ”

Distantly, he heard the music fade away as he finally made it to the back parlor room. This room had the best view of Central in the whole apartment in Al’s opinion, and he wanted to monopolize it for himself. May had mentioned in a letter to him that trade with Amestris was finally starting to pick up, which meant that some savvy entrepreneurs had gotten some fireworks to set off to signal the new year. He planned to sip at the warm cider as he sat out on the windowsill to watch the fireworks.

_ “10!”  _ Opening the door, he heard people outside starting the countdown, probably following along using the giant clock set up in East Square. 

“ _ 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! ”  _ He opened the window and savored the cool night air as he sat on the windowsill. A clap and press to the wooden outer covering also made the edge more secure, so he wouldn’t fall off. Bringing his cup of cider to his lips, Al savored the spicy taste of the drink as the clock inched closer to the new year.

“ _ 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year! _ ” There was a sudden burst of noise and color as people set off fireworks and flooded the streets to celebrate. Al watched, as people embraced each other and camera flashes twinkled like stars in the dark night. 

“Happy New Year.” He whispered to himself. The fireworks burst to life overhead, making people below ooh and ahh with wonder. The designs however, were clearly Xingese, Al noted, seeing as a phoenix burst into life in the sky. Maybe next year there would be some Amestrian designs in the sky too. 

For now though, he was content watching phoenixes and dragons and salmon come to life in the sky, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if May Chang was watching a similar scene all the way in the Imperial Palace in Xing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Corner:
> 
> Ishvalan/Arabic:
> 
> Elanise - the honorific "Miss"  
> Mudaris - Grandmother  
> Qudurạt - Potential
> 
> German/Amestrian:
> 
> Festmahl - Feast/Banquet


	9. January 1st – July 7th, 1918

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Big Edwin Scene™ is finally here! It's probably my favorite scene in this whole fic, because while Ed and Winry are cute together, I never really write them being a couple, or at least not a very traditionally romantic couple. They're romantic in their own way. So this scene was my chance to let them be a traditionally romantic couple and I loved every single bit of it, clichés and all.

* * *

They had ended up fleeing the house soon after dinner ended. Now, this wasn’t because they had taken any sort of intense dislike to the guests, but they had wanted some time to themselves, and quite frankly, it was going to be impossible to find a space where they could be alone in an apartment filled to the brim with people.

So they had taken to the streets, easily blending in with all the people milling about. 

“Want to go to a café or something? Just a place to get out of the chill?” Ed suggested as they walked down the familiar street. 

“I want to stay out here a bit longer… And if we get cold, we can always order from one of the street stalls.” She offered, wrapping her scarf a little tighter around her neck. 

“You just want to see the fireworks.” He accused. “We can see them inside the café.”

“ _ No. _ ” She stressed. “I just like nighttime Central! That’s not a crime, is it? I mean, the fireworks  _ are  _ a bonus, I would really like to see what they’re made of—”

“It’s basically just gunpowder plus some other materials to make them tinted.” Ed butted in, causing Winry to hit him in the side. 

“Jeez, if you’re going to be surly about it, at least don’t attempt to show off too! It just makes you sound weird!”

“Ugh, why do you even care anyways? It’s not like they’re any useful for automail.”

“Edward Elric, are you insinuating that I only care about automail?” She let Ed sweat for a bit as he tried to stammer his way out of the corner he had boxed himself into before socking him in the arm. “They said that Imperial Park will have the best display.”

“Isn’t Imperial Park supposed to have a lot of stuff goin’ on tonight though? Like a performance by that new band from Tiefenbach. I also heard they set up some sort of exhibition, I think the city wanted some alchemists to sign up? I didn’t really bother with the details since I caught wind so late.”

“Right… Because you were in Ishval.” Honestly, even though Ed had only been back for a month or so, it still didn’t feel like that. It felt like the time he had spent in Ishval was easily years away. “Well, we can at least check those out, I know you and Al are both really interested in seeing new advances in alchemy.” Winry decided that she could sacrifice a little of her time to see something Ed enjoyed, even if it did bore her half to tears. 

“Nah, it’s okay. We can stop by for a little, grab some food, then head down to Aix.”

“Aix?” She asked confusedly. 

“Oh, right I forgot. ‘S what everyone at work calls Schilf.”

“Why Aix though?”

“Apparently it’s an old Aerugonian word for “by-the-waters”, and well—”

“Schilf  _ is  _ known for its nice waterfront.” She finished. 

“Plus it crosses that hilly slope, you know the bit, so we can sit up there and watch the fireworks if that’s what you want.”

“I think we should at least stop by the park first,  _ I  _ heard that they’re showin’ off some new technology, they say it’s an improvement of those old picture boxes.”

“Like what Mr. Wielen used to show us when we were kids?  _ Those  _ picture boxes? But those barely lasted more than 10 minutes! That’s why all  _ his _ recordings were of old fairy tales.”

“They say they made one that’s more than an hour now, it’s the product of a joint project between some alchemists, artists and engineers. I think they even got some military funding too.”

“Military funding?” Ed perked up a little. “Well, I guess they wouldn’t give people money if they didn’t at least have a working prototype or if it wasn’t in some way useful... And you said alchemists are involved in this too? I wonder what arrays they used...” He trailed off, muttering about alchemical processes and chemicals, leaving Winry to wait for him to realize that she had been locked out of the loop of his thoughts. Luckily he didn’t leave her hanging for long, and quickly snapped back to the present reality. 

“Back with the  _ normal  _ people?” She asked teasingly. 

“Ah, shut it gear head.” He retorted, but it held no heat. It hadn’t really, not for years now. 

* * *

They do eventually make it to the park, but Ed drags her into a café along the way because he’s always thought on his stomach even now, and the sight of one too many pfannkuchen on display. 

“They’ll most likely have food at the park Ed.” She sighed, letting a little exasperation seep into her voice. 

“Yeah, but they’ll get all sooty and crap from everyone who’s been handling the fireworks, and who  _ knows  _ what they’ve put in those!” He stated hotly, and slapped down 344.6 cenz on the counter. “I’ll take 10, 2 strawberry, 3 chocolate, 3 custard and 2 advocaat.” 

“ _ Ed. _ ” She scolded. “You know advocaat is alcoholic.”

“We’re  _ 18 _ Winry, it’s  _ fine.  _ It’s not like we’re gonna get drunk off of them anyways! It’s just filling!” He protested. The elderly shopkeeper seemed to be taking their arguing in stride as she left to fill Ed’s order. “Besides, rum cake also contains alcohol, and I’m pretty sure we’ve never gotten drunk off that either. And they’re not  _ for  _ us. I just decided to pick some up for the office for tomorrow, er—” He took a glance at the clock. “The day  _ after  _ tomorrow I mean. Fuery and Havoc really like it.”

“Lieutenant Fuery?” She asked, half in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I know, it shocked me too. Anyways, these are for them, the rest of the team, Armstrong, Ross, Brosh and Hughes. So no harm, no foul done on my part.”

“Where are we even going to store them though?”

“Central HQ is on the way to the park, at least by this route anyways, and no one’s gonna care if I pop in for a few to store this in the break room.”

“Not worried about someone stealing them?”

“Not if I put Hawkeye’s name on it.” He quipped. “Then we can go to the park, see, we can get everything done!”

“It won’t take too long?” Ed risked another glance at the clock. “Uh, it’s only 10 now, and it won’t even take 5 minutes to nip in—”

“I’m kidding Ed, I know it won’t take us that long. I’m just excited to see what they have to show at the park. We might even see some people performing Bleigießen.”

“That’s bunk Winry, you know that.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” Ed sighed, but conceded the point. The elderly baker came back with the pastries, all wrapped up in a neat box. 

“Einen guten Rutsch ins neue Jahr!” She smiled as she handed the box over to Ed. “You two enjoy yourselves!”

“Einen guten Rutsch ins neue Jahr!” They chorused back, walking back outside to the cold Central air. Winry tugged her scarf up more to shield her face. She hadn’t realized  _ how  _ cold it was outside until she had been forced to take a break from it. The café  _ had  _ been pretty warm...

“You’re cold.” Ed accused. “See, I told you we should’ve just gone to a café and stayed there.” He shifted the package so that he was only gripping it with one hand, and unwound his scarf. He tossed the garment at her. “Take mine.”

“Then you’ll be cold.”

“I’ll be fine, I have my coat.” He tugged at the warm woolen coat she had gotten him as a present a few years back. 

“Fine...” She wound the scarf around her neck, and had to begrudgingly agree that it  _ was  _ warmer with Ed’s scarf on  _ and  _ that he would probably be fine without it. She  _ had  _ bought the coat on the pretense that he would need it in the chillier months. 

“Let’s get going, Headquarters is just around the corner.”

“Will any guards be there?”

“Just a few, it’s the graveyard shift after all. Makes me glad I never piss Mustang off enough to be assigned that.” They walked down the mostly empty streets, most people having abandoned the so-called “Military Square” for Boardwalk, the Commons, Imperial Park, or some other evening scene that was hosting New Year’s celebrations. Her mind drifted over to Aix, where Ed had suggested they go after viewing the festivities at Imperial Park. The scenery there was certainly beautiful, and it had a clear view, no buildings or traffic to block their view of the fireworks. 

She just wondered if they’d be able to have the place to themselves. After all, they’d escaped the Hugheses’ apartment in order to get  _ away  _ from people, and Aix wasn’t exactly an obscure place. It was well known as a bit of a haunt for artists, and there was no way any artists was going to  _ miss out _ on being able to paint or take pictures of the fireworks from a place like Aix. 

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice when they had made it to Central HQ, until she bumped into Ed as he was pausing to show the guard on duty his pocket watch. The jolt snapped her out of her head, and she quickly apologized. “It’s no problem Winry, but you’re gonna have to stay outside for a little, I won’t be long, promise.” He ran on ahead, and Winry was left to stand in front of Headquarters, the dim lamplight from the streetlamps her only company.

Well, except for the guard, who decided to promptly make her presence known.

“You’re Winry  _ Rockbell  _ right?” 

“Oh, um, yes. Yes I am.”

“Rockbell Automail, on Seacoast and 6th?”

“Yes, located in Military Square, just around the block from here.” 

“I… My cousin, he went to your clinic, got surgery on his left leg. You gave him, oh I’ve no head for automail, but sounded all fancy— An NC1915-D Bort I think he said.” Winry had only  _ one  _ customer who’d gotten anything  _ that  _ pricey.

“Captain Nieuport!” She exclaimed. “Oh, yes, I remember him, if he’s finding everything alright?”

“Yes, he is, been singing your praises really, says that you should be the one supplying the military with automail, not Ruiter’s or Harbor Automail. The only thing he complains about is so tiny that it’s not even a real complaint.”

“I’m just a small practice really, it wouldn’t be practical...” Winry demurred. “But it  _ is  _ nice to have the free advertising.” She admitted. 

“As far as I can tell ma’am, you’ve earned it.” Winry was about to ask about that one so-called insignificant complaint, but Ed had come thundering down the hallway. He paused for just a second in the doorway, seemingly to check the clock inside.

“It’s only 10:15, we can still catch the picture box exhibition if we hurry.” He said. “Ah— Guten Rutsch Private.” He said, taking up his place beside Winry.

“Guten Rutsch Sir.” She smiled. “Have a good night out you two.” 

* * *

The park was lovely. Everything was lit up in sparking lights, and she honestly didn’t know what to do first. 

“Ah, the guys doing the picture box exhibition are over there.” Ed said, pointing at a central stage. “Let’s go see them first.” They walked over, and Winry caught a glimpse of the posters they had pinned up. 

“The  _ cinématographe. _ ” She rolled her tongue around the new word. “Is that what they’re calling it now? Picture box was easier.”

“It’s an inventor’s pride probably.”

“Probably.” She took a closer look at the poster. “10:30, showcase of the cinématographe with the actualité  _ Deconstruction of Stone. _ ” 

“So they filmed someone using an array to deconstruct stone.” Ed said. “I didn’t think they could make something with  _ less  _ entertainment value than the fairy tales on the picture box, but they did it.”

“Oh hush Ed, you’re so negative. Besides, it’s just a showcase, it’s probably meant to show off the capabilities of the machine!” They took their seats in the rows of chairs the two men had set up. After a few more minutes, the lights in their little section of the park had all been turned off, and Winry felt Ed stiffen a little. 

She squeezed his hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, and watched as the backing of the stage lit up. She watched as someone walked into frame, presumably the alchemist who was supposed to conduct the deconstruction. The camera panned up, and Winry realized that something was  _ off.  _

The images from the picture box had never been this smooth, nor had they been in color. This was both smooth, high quality,  _ and  _ in color, or at least, some limited form of it. The clearly green jacket the man was wearing was slightly faded, and not in that way colors got when they were washed one too many times. No, this looked sun-bleached, like some of the color was leeched away. 

Ed seemed to have noticed too, what with his frantic muttering about silver halides and light-sensitive crystals and sensitizers, whatever all that referred to. She watched, in awe, as the man knelt and pressed his hands to the array, blue-white lightning sparking to life and arcing before the stone was deconstructed. Then the short film was over. 

“Thank you all for coming tonight—” Winry tuned the man out. This was revolutionary,  _ color  _ film. Even if it was short, she was certain that by the end of the year, they’d have longer films out. Her mind quickly took a turn for the more business oriented side of things. 

If she managed to get a camera like that of her own, she would be able to improve the customer experience in her shop, she could even help patients feel more assured and relaxed about their procedures, she could make entire films on how her workshop flow worked for new employees. 

“You used several layers—” That was Ed, he was asking  _ something _ , Winry tuned back in to find out what. “How’d you think of using that?” Damn, she had tuned out for too long.

“Well, our alchemist friend, he thought of it really, said that different dyes and chemicals and such could help with the color process, though I’m ashamed to say that we don’t know much about the process ourselves sir, though we can contact him for you!” The shorter of the two men said. Winry decided to pose a question of her own.

“I want to buy a cinématographe. As well as your services. How much will that cost me?” There were gasps of shock and slight outrage all around, the outrage probably stemming from those who had also planned to ask the same but hadn’t been quick about it. 

“Uh— Thank you ma’am, but while that is an attractive offer, currently we are under an exclusive contract with the military, so you will have to wait until we become private in order to buy our services.”

“I see. Thank you for the information.” Military huh? Maybe the private had been right, she could clearly do more if she was the person supplying the military. She got up in one smooth motion, and took Ed’s hand. Motioning for him to sit back down when it looked like he was going to follow her. 

“Winry, what was all that about?”

“Just thinking about my business.” And it truly had become her  _ business _ , not just a project for her apprenticeship. “Anyways, time’s growing short, I’m going to do a round of Bleigießen, and you can stay and quiz them about the arrays and stuff, I know you want to alchemy freak.” He bristled automatically at the nickname, but they both knew she didn’t mean any harm by it. “Meet up with me back here at… does 11:30 sound good? We get something to eat and drink while we have fun, then we go watch the fireworks.”

“Sounds like a plan, I’ll see you at 11:30.” He said, then let go of her hand. Winry nodded at him, and walked off. 

The first stall she went to was, of course, one where she could she participate in Bleigießen. Crowding around the wooden stall were people of all ages, she could spy some parents steadily holding the special spoon until all the tin melted, and then helping their babies pour it into the ice water. 

In her opinion, Winry thought it better to pour the tin into room temperature water, since some of the liquid might get caught on the chunks of ice, which could distort the shape. Walking up to an unoccupied bowl, she glanced over the spoons until she found one that was more or less clean. 

“How much is it?” She asked the young man manning this section of the stall.

“Just 142 cenz miss.” Winry deposited the amount on the counter, waited for the man to check the coins to see if they were authentic, and picked up a nice, smooth ball of tin, and placed it in the spoon. “What are you hoping to get miss?”

“Anything that brings me luck in my business honestly...” Winry laughed. “How about you, have you gotten your fortune already?”

“Yes, I got an ei, which makes sense, my older sister’s apparently planning on adding a new addition to the family.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Winry said warmly, lighting the candle and placing the spoon so that the flame was licking at the bottom of it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“I’ve just been busy is all, a business can’t run itself.” That, and the second to last time she had done this was with Granny Pinako, a few months before learning that her parents had died in Ishval. The news had turned her off of the practice completely.

At least it  _ had _ , until 1915. When Ed had told her and Granny to pack their bags and run, Winry had felt a sudden need to pull out her Bleigießen kit and melt some tin. It was a childish impulse, sure, but there was a part of her that figured, childish or not, Ed and Al would need all the luck they could get. 

She deftly poured the melted tin into the bowl, watching as it instantly cooled back to solid form. The young man deftly fished it out, and handed it back to her. 

“Here you go ma’am.” Glancing at the char behind him, Winry squinted at the shape it had formed. 

“I think this looks a lot like a rad.” She said, poking at the little spindly lines stretching out from the outside of the ring towards the inside. 

“That symbolizes big changes miss. Hopefully they’re good ones.”

“Hopefully.” She agreed. He slid a coin towards her. 

“Can’t forget the token.” 

“Right!” She picked it up, admiring the new design. This year it was a silver 20 cenz coin, with an indent in the middle to show its non-circulating status. On the obverse the design was simple, a boy and girl holding a “basket” (the indent) of four leaf clovers, and the words  _ Good luck in the New Year  _ written in the old script above their heads. Below them was the year, 1918. On the reverse was the military heraldry with an indent in the dragon’s eye showing the value of the coin: 20 cenz. Around the heraldry was the motto of the country written in old script, yet again: Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem. In Standard Amestrian that would be: By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty)

Waving goodbye to the young man, Winry continued on her journey to experience everything she could at the park before she and Ed had to leave.

* * *

The time came to leave sooner than Winry had expected it. It was like one second she was eating raclette and the next she was cleaning up and heading over to the cinématographe exhibition. 

She spotted Ed from a good meter or two off, as he was performing alchemy, and there really was nothing else in the world that could call attention to itself like alchemy. Really, he couldn’t have sent up a better beacon. She watched him for a while as he chattered away endlessly with the two presenters about their invention, shaping something in the dirt— a something that looked a lot like the cinématographe, but slightly different. 

“Ed! Hey, alchemy freak!” She called out.

“Oh, shit— Fuck, I went over time, didn’t I?”

“No, I was just telling you that it’s 11:25, so it’s almost time to go.” Ed looked forlornly at his dirt cinématographe, then shook hands with the two presenters. 

“I already made prior plans, but I want to hear back from you two and your friend, you’re a bunch of brilliant bastards, I didn’t even think about using acetylated cellulose for the base! Just ask for Ed Elric at Central HQ, and you’ll be able to catch up with me, I want to hear all about your next design for the film!” He called as he hopped down from the stage. Winry smothered a laugh as the two realized that they had been talking to the  _ real  _ Fullmetal Alchemist. Another two to mark down for the: “Believed Al’s Armor Meant  _ He  _ Was the Fullmetal Alchemist” list. 

“Alright, let’s get goin— Ah, shit, actually, I’ll meet you by the entrance real quick Winry, I’d been talking with those two for the entire time, and I didn’t eat  _ anything _ .”

“Just don’t fill yourself up.” He ran off with a smile, and Winry could only envision the chaos he was about to wreck upon the poor unsuspecting stall owners. 

Surprisingly though, he was back quickly, a bag in his hand. 

“I got some chocolate for Al.” He explained. With that done, they ventured off to Aix, 25 minutes before the night ticked over into the new year.

* * *

Aix really was a breathtaking place. Winry sat on the crest of the hilly area, and got comfortable. Music drifted over from the other side of the river, a nice, sweet tune Winry couldn’t place. At the same time, she could hear radio announcers start reading off their last programs for the night as they prepared for the countdown that was due to happen at any time now. 

“Made it just in time.”

“No thanks to your stomach.”

“I’m a growing young man gear head, I need my nutrients.”

“No one needs enough nutrients to satiate an entire army group Ed.” He took a seat next to her, his hand inching towards hers. Rolling her eyes, Winry took it, and scooted closer to him. She had to stifle a laugh at his reaction, he had gone absolutely red. 

“W—Winry what—”

“I’m holding your hand Ed, it’s not rocket science.” That seemingly shut him up, and they relaxed on the hill, watching the clear night sky, waiting for the distinctive  _ click  _ of all the radio stations turning off their records of the last song of the night and beginning their countdown.

“Winry, I have something to tell you.” Ed’s voice easily overpowered the quiet music.

“Yes?”

“So, you know that I’m pretty much stationed in Central for all of 1918.” In fact, she  _ hadn’t  _ known that, but that was good. The three of them had barely spent any time together last year, with Ed in Central they’d have more time together. “But that’s not all. I—” He choked on his words a little. Winry didn’t say a thing, waiting for him to work up the courage to finish. “...I’m… I’m planning on retiring after this year.” The words hung heavy in the air,

“But Ishval—”

“Mustang’s got it handled, and I can still help out as a civilian alchemist if need be… But… I want to start doing my own things. The Promised Day… It reminded me that we aren’t going to live forever… So I want to do all the things worth doing before I have to go.”

“That’s… We just got you back Ed...”

“Oh! No, I’m not leaving  _ next year _ , no… I’m gonna wait on that for a little while. Just kind of get used to not being in the military for a while.”

“Oh.”

“And one of the things… One of the things I decided I would do—”

“Edward Elric, I am too young to get married.”

“What! No! This isn’t a proposal...” He probably thought she couldn’t hear the whispered  _ gear freak  _ under his breath, but she did, so she socked him in the arm. “Ow! Hey! I didn’t even do anything!”

“Uh- **_huh_ ** .” She said skeptically. Twisting herself to look at Ed, (blowing some hair out of her face in the process) she raised an eyebrow. “So, what  _ did  _ you want to do?”

“Winry...” He blushed again, and he reached for the bag he had brought from the park. As he reached in, Winry heard the  _ click _ and the silence that signalled the upcoming countdown. “I wanted to give you this.” He withdrew a red rose, darker than any she had ever seen. She stared at him, silent, and carefully took the rose out of his hand.

“Edward Elric...”

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to—”

“Shut up alchemy freak.” She set the rose down in a spot where neither of them would crush it if they moved too much. “Look, I think that was sappy and over the top, and it  _ certainly  _ isn’t  _ you _ , more like something Colonel Hughes or General Mustang would do, but it was sweet.” She smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment.” Distantly, she heard the synchronized countdown. 

_ “10! 9!”  _ She moved a little closer, enough to be able to peer deep into Ed’s golden irises. The gesture had been dorky, sure, but she had meant it when she said that she appreciated the sentiment. But if they were going to do this, then they were going to do it right. No holding feelings back, no gestures to mask what they truly felt, no over the top reactions.

“ _ 5! 4! _ ” Every second that passed felt like eternity as they stared at each other silently. She didn’t know exactly what tipped the scales, but suddenly they were moving again— 

_ “3! 2!”  _ Winry knew that if they were asked about it later, they’d blush darkly and stammer like the teenagers they still were, embarrassed about their relationship, but that didn’t matter now.

_ “1! Happy New Year!”  _ All she knew was that as the cheers resounded and fireworks went off across the lake, Ed was kissing her, and she was kissing him.

* * *

_ February 11th, 1918  _

* * *

Al eagerly opened the letter he had received from May, and settled down to read it. 

_ Dear Sir Alphonse,  _ it started, which only reminded Al that he had  _ got  _ to stop May from referring to him as “Sir”, if not verbally then at least when she was writing him! He didn’t like being treated as though he was of a higher status than her, especially when the reverse was more likely to be true. 

(But then again with Hohenheim’s status as the Sage of the Eas—er,  _ West _ , who knew who was really “on top”, Al usually just decided that both their statuses levelled out) 

A little ruffled, Al continued to read. 

_ New Year’s celebrations will have begun by the time this letter reaches you, this year it falls on February 11th by your calendar, and next year it will fall on the 1st of February. I know you must be confused by the huge gaps in dates, especially as I hear that New Years in Amestris always falls on the same calendar day _ — _ January 1st.  _

_ In Xing, we operate on a lunisolar calendar, while you operate on a solar only calendar with a few modifications to keep the dates in sync with the sun. While the calendar you use in Amestris is also used here for general purposes of day to day life, the traditional lunar calendar is used to determine holiday, festivals, and also serves a fortune telling purpose. The way our calendar operates, I have been told, can be difficult for outsiders to comprehend, at least, that is what the elders tell us, but the elders also believe that no other country can know what “true” alchemy is because only the Great Sage of the West visited us, which is demonstrably untrue. _

_ I do hope you could prove them wrong though Sir Alphonse, it would make me very happy to see you proving the elders wrong, even if it is not the most pious thing to wish for.  _ Al had to stifle a grin from over taking his face, the overly formal words telling a deeper story than May had mostly intended. 

May was a girl of straightforward words and quick action. Even when he had last seen her at Ling’s enthronement ceremony, she hadn’t let her stay in the capital change her a bit. So if she was using excessively formal language like “families from the capital”, it meant that she was either extremely agitated, writing  _ to  _ a noble from the capital/Council of Elders, or she was mocking the way they spoke.  _ In any case, I want to forget about the elders, after all, you’ve never experienced a Xingese New Year! Let me try and illustrate what that’s like. I hear that your celebrations start the day before the New Year and continue on into it? In Xing, our celebrations aren’t exactly like how you would define celebrations. It’s more like… Preparing for the New Year, in a sense. There is a saying, that we Xingese「年廿八, 洗邋遢」. In Amestrian, I think it translates to “clean on the 28th day of the 12th month.”  _ Al paused to trace the characters, finger following what he thought was the logical order for the tiny strokes (though he was well aware that the order he was following was most likely wrong), admiring May’s calligraphy. 

He wondered if he could learn to write like that if he learned Xingese, though he would have to first solve the hurdle of finding someone to teach him.

May’s letter continued on, detailing her experiences with the Xingese traditions, and Al felt himself get more and more immersed as he continued to read. She described the beautiful fireworks with such passion and vividness that Al almost got the sense that he was sitting, watching the fireworks with her. The way she wrote about each little delicacy like it was a priceless treasure tugged at his heartstrings, just as he imagined the sight in reality making others pity her. 

(Al resolved then and there to  _ never  _ reveal to May that he had pitied her over that. The small girl certainly didn’t need or want Al’s pity, and she’d kick his ass if he even suggested so)

Al hadn’t even noticed that he wiled away the better part of two hours just reading May’s letter, and he wasn’t even done yet. The tea he had set apart for himself had even gone all gross and lukewarm. Al noted with a little bit of annoyance that neither Ed nor Winry had said anything to him about it, or had even tried to top it off with some fresh tea. Getting up and stretching, he threw the tea down the drain, resolving to make himself a new cup in another hour or so. 

Picking up the letter, Al left the kitchen and holed up in his room, cross-referencing May’s questions and comparisons in his journal, both so he could compose his own reply later, and to simply note down some of her observations about the world, alkahestry, and Xingese politics. 

One part of her letter stuck out starkly to him however:

_ I think living in the capital would be more bearable with a friendly face. Not that Ling and Lan Fan are bad company, but they don’t  _ **_get_ ** _ alchemy, let alone alkahestry. I guess there is a part of me that misses Amestris after all, since, despite all the homunculi and secret transmutation circles, and turning everyone into Philosopher’s Stones bits, there was always  _ **_someone_ ** _ you could talk to about alchemy.  _

_ I just miss that is all. _

His heart went out to her, and in response, Al filled out the first half of his letter to her accordingly.

_ When Brother and I were researching the Philosopher’s Stone, we wondered if there were any similarities between alkahestry and alchemy, and if so, was there a way to combine them. I think we both saw pretty clearly the effects of combining alkahestry and alchemy on the Promised Day, and I know while I can’t be a friendly face, I can at least help alleviate some boredom so you don’t end up destroying the palace after taking out your anger from the Elders trying to order you around on the palace walls. _

_ I’m looking forward to the results of your research! _

* * *

_ May 23rd, 1918  _

* * *

Winry was used to military officers drifting in and out of her clinic now. Ignoring for a moment that hers was the closest automail clinic to Central Headquarters, and therefore the first choice for soldiers looking to get a quick tune-up or for superior officers looking for their subordinates to get back to duty quickly after their tune-ups, Winry suspected that her clientele drifted distinctly towards a military crowd due to Ed.

While she appreciates the boost in revenue Ed’s reputation gives the clinic, she’s still uncomfortable tethering herself to Ed like that, especially when she’s still unsure if Granny Pinako approved of her results. She had only been supposed to manage the shop for a year, then Granny would decide if she had improved enough to continue her practice in Central City… 

But Granny Pinako  _ still  _ hadn’t replied, despite it being  _ 3 months now _ since she had sent it. But she digressed. Winry was used to regular officers bouncing in and out of her shop, but despite her relationship with Ed and Al and Mr. Hughes, she has never been quite  _ comfortable  _ seeing a member of General Mustang’s team walk in through the glass doors.

Maybe it's leftover paranoia from back when she was 10 and scared half to death that her best friends in the whole world were tossing themselves to the wolves, maybe she’s just never grown past the knee-jerk reaction of “being in the military is bad  _ always _ ” that she had come to associate with General Mustang and Major Hawkeye knocking on her door all the way back in 1910.

So when Major Hawkeye walks in, Winry gulps, straightens up, tells Paninya to handle the requests (except for the surgeries, those are always Winry’s domain) while she goes out to have a coffee. Paninya almost makes a fuss, but all Winry has to do is incline her head a little and glare before she backs down.

She really thinks of Paninya as a friend,  _ really,  _ and the other girl is definitely a hard worker and a good asset for Winry… But Paninya was used to Rush Valley, where automail proprietors barely ever took steps out of their practices for food, let alone to talk to a military officer about who knows what. In Rush Valley, engineers were king, in Central City (rather, in most of the rest of Amestris), the military was.

So she followed Major Hawkeye out until they entered a small café on the corner of Witt and 2nd. She wished the Major had chosen the popular one on 6th, but there was likely a reason for her doing so, so Winry wouldn’t complain. 

“Have you had lunch yet Winry?”

“Not yet.” the blonde sharpshooter nods, and then directs Winry to sit at a table nearby the window. She doesn’t ask for Winry’s order, nor does Winry tell her. She knows that the Major will have already known what Winry would have ordered anyways, by virtue of being in contact with Ed nearly every day as the General’s current liaison in Central.

_I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that she’s the Führer’s granddaughter either._ Winry noted as she gazed out the window at the busy streets. She, like many Centralites, had heard the gossip (Winry obviously having access to better sources than most of the public of course, what with her military connections). _So_ _General Mustang plans to make a bid for Führer next year._

To that end of course, placing Hawkeye in Central was a brilliant move, as expected of the youngest General Amestris had ever seen. Her confirmed loyalty to Mustang made her likely to report back on whatever moves his opposition was making, and her status as the Führer’s granddaughter made it so that said opposition couldn’t freely act against her. Well, except for Führer Grumman himself, but these days his relationship with Generals Armstrong and Mustang was much warmer than it had been back when he had first taken up the position.

She eyed the newspapers sitting on the rack, _Amestris Landesweit_ cost 8.02 cenz, _Deventer’s Voice_ was 5 cenz, _Handelsblatt_ was 10.32 cenz, and she didn’t even look at the journals, they’d be prohibitively expensive, and it wasn’t like there would be a lot to interest her in them either. Winry spied an automail oriented journal in there, but one look at the price tag (§126.43) was enough to dissuade her from picking it up, let alone buying it. She settled for picking up a copy of _Handelsblatt_ and _Deventer’s Voice_. It paid to keep on top of market trends and politics, and it didn’t hurt to see what was going on back out East.

The Major soon returned, a cup of peppermint tea for Winry, and what looked to be coffee for herself.

“Thank you.” Winry took a sip of her tea, and scanned the headlines from  _ Handelsblatt _ . 

_ Ishval Restoration Project in Full Swing! _

_ Central Faces New Wave of Immigration, Experts Concerned That Unemployment Rates Will Rise _

_ Candidates for the Race to Become Führer-President _

_ “Be Thou for the People”, Ins and Outs of the State Alchemist Program _

Nothing all that interesting that would keep her attention while she waited for the other blonde to speak. 

“Edward is retiring at the end of the year.” It took all of Winry’s willpower to not spray the Major with tea.

“Er, yes. He told me of his intentions to do so back in the New Year.”

“Ah, I hadn’t realized. Well, that makes things easier.” The Major took in a deep breath. “Winry, I advise you to close up shop, and go back to Resembool within a month of Edward retiring.”

“Major, I—”

“Let me finish.” Her words brokered no argument, and Winry didn’t really have the will to argue back, not when the Major looked so  _ tired.  _ “When Edward leaves, it will be in the midst of the competition for the Führer’s seat. And like it or not, Edward is seen as a stalwart member of the General’s camp.”

“Ed doesn’t want to be involved in politics anymore!” Winry protested. “He’s been saying that for months!”

“And I, alongside the rest of the team respect his wishes, not that the General ever really planned to invoke him during the campaign trail. But what the other candidates will see is the Fullmetal Alchemist  _ leaving  _ just as things are about to kick into high gear. That will look like he and the General have had a split, and they  _ will  _ come to try and prey on you and him Winry.” Hawkeye’s eyes were distant, and Winry could tell that she (likely not just her, both Generals Armstrong and Mustang must’ve gone through it too during Grumman’s run for Führer) was thinking about the future now, mind on countless scenarios of how  _ wrong  _ it could all go. So Winry decided to bring her back to the present.

“What about Al?”

“He’s been out of the spotlight for the most part, what with his recovery and focus on alchemical research, he isn’t as prominent a target, but I will still be visiting him to let him know that he should consider leaving. But back to the main topic. I know all three of you very well by now, and I doubt heavily that you would kow-tow to those sycophants.”

“One of them, a Lieutenant General Bridesburg, he… He was one of the generals involved in negotiating Ishvalan concessions after the Massacre of Aiún.” Winry felt herself tense up. “If he had just… treated the Ishvalans like  _ human beings  _ then—” Winry shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I tried cozying up to them, Ed and Al wouldn’t be able to do it either.”

“Right. And when they see that you won’t bend—”

“They’ll try to break us. Scandals, lies, smearing all of our reputations...” Winry winced, remembering her first few months of harassment and slander from the bigger automail companies. “You want us out before any of that can happen.” 

“Yes. You all deserve to live your lives away from the politics of Central.” Winry stared into her cup of tea. Stared into defiant blue eyes clouded by the murky brown water. There was so much she wanted to say to that.

_ That Ed wasn’t the only one hoping that their goal would come to fruition. That despite her open hostility towards the military, she realized that not everyone in it was bad. That she was tired of seeing good people lose fights that should have been victories. _

“...Thank you for the advice Miss Riza.” Winry said, picking up her papers. “...I’m sure we will take it, but don’t think we’re leaving Central for good. I started a business here, with people who  _ depend  _ on me. We’ll take a break, sure. But as soon as Mustang gets shoved into that Fuhrer’s seat, we’re coming straight back, or else I’m not the daughter of Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell.” She got up to go, but a light hand on her wrist stopped her.

“One more piece of advice, before you go.” The blonde woman said, this time with a soft smile. “It’s about Edward, again.”

* * *

_ July 7th, 1918  _

* * *

Al sees the words whenever he closes his eyes.

_ Would you like to come to Longjing and learn alkahestry with me? _

The invitation scares him a little, he won’t lie. But by that same token, he can’t say that he isn’t absolutely rearing to go either, because he  _ is _ . This is his chance to round up the chimeras and finally try to cure them, his chance of finding out more about the branches of alchemy east of Amestris, his chance to leave his own impact on the world.

But he’s hesitating, because he knows that if he should just up and  _ leave  _ that would devastate Winry and Ed and Granny Pinako. And that’s something Al cannot bear to have weigh on him, because above anything else, he values family the most. After so many years stuck in that armor, tethered to life because Brother had saved him, because Brother gave up  _ so much  _ to try and restore him (him, because Al is under no illusions that Ed would have gone on his journey if it had been him and him alone affected; for all his brother acts selfish, he really is just a big softie), there was just no way he could put anything higher than  _ family  _ in his personal values.

Which is why he’s sitting, twiddling his thumbs before Colonel Hughes and General Mustang, because if there’s anyone he trusts to give him practical advice about balancing family and desire, it’s these two men. 

Bitterly, he thinks that it’s not _balancing,_ it’s _sacrifice_ , and he’s so **_sick_** of sacrificing, but here he is, yet again, weighing his desires against his family because for all the fuss he kicks up about family being important, Al cannot help but try to balance the scales again, what is the worth of his trip to Xing in terms of his family? What is the equivalent exchange? Clearly, he’s learned nothing.

“So the Chang girl sent you a formal invitation?” Mustang asks first as Al finishes explaining his dilemma. 

“No, she just asked in a letter she sent to me last month.”

“Well that gives you wiggle room at least.”

“And time.” Colonel Hughes buts in, green eyes sharp. “You can never have enough time when it comes to things like this.”

“I just don’t want to hurt anyone with the decision I make.” The two men share a look. 

“It’s never going to be that simple Al.” Hughes says quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “No matter what we do, no matter what choices we make. The outcomes of those choices often end up hurting those we care about in some way or form. It’s very rare that we get to encounter a situation that will leave everyone satisfied.”

“And while it’s very commendable that you’re trying to find a way for everyone to be happy, it’s not as though you can’t make selfish decisions every once in a while. You both ran around all of Amestris causing havoc in order to get your bodies back. It won’t be a problem if you decided to be a little self-centered with your life, that was the entire point of your mission anyways.” 

“It just doesn’t sit right with me.” Al whispered. “I—I haven’t— I didn’t even really  _ do  _ anything—”

“Alphonse!” They shouted at the same time. Mustang stood up from his chair. 

“Forgive me, but that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard in my life, and I have to sit for regular meetings with the Brass.” Mustang scoffed. “You’ve done plenty in the time you’ve gotten your body back Al, or must I go get my collection of alchemy journals for you to realize that?”

“And I’m  _ still  _ getting requests for you to speak at Nikias University!” Hughes griped. “And ignoring your academic accomplishments, you were a big help in Ishval when we were trying to convince the Amier and Grand Cleric to allow us to get more alchemists in to revitalize the area!”

“So no, Alphonse, you  _ have  _ done a lot since you got your body back, and that’s why if you can’t come up with a better reason other than ‘it wouldn’t be fair to Fullmetal’, I’ll order you to take Ms. Chang’s offer myself, because it’s clear that you want to accept.”

“But that’s not my only reason… I don’t know Xingese, and everyone in Xing reveres the Great Sage of the East, who is  _ my father _ , and the Council of Elders  _ already  _ doesn’t like Amestris and I might mess up and ruin—” Hughes put up a hand, silencing Al. 

“Wow. That’s a  _ lot  _ of weight you’ve taken up there Al.” He said quietly. “...It’s okay to let other people worry about that stuff you know.”

“Brother and I made a promise though, we said we’d help—”

“And you can’t help if you cripple yourself worrying about things you don’t need to worry about.” Mustang said. “And you didn’t  _ just  _ make a promise to us, did you? I seem to recall some former soldiers that were turned into chimeras that I’m sure you promised to help.” 

“Yes, we did make a promise to find a way to turn them back to normal.” Al admitted. 

“Well there you go.” Mustang sat back down, looking for all the world that the problem had been solved. “We’ve got things covered militarily as well as politically, Ishval can keep for a few more years, Fullmetal and his girlfriend aren’t about to go gallivanting on another adventure that’ll destabilize the country anytime soon… Take the invitation. As for the not knowing Xingese part, well I’m sure Ms. Chang won’t just leave you out to dry.”

“As for your father—” Colonel Hughes was choosing his words carefully, judging by the way he was now tapping his fingers nervously against General Mustang’s desk. “—Well, you aren’t him, now are you Al? So, sure, the general public might view you as either an inbred hick  _ or  _ the son of someone they practically see as a god… But the people who matter the most over there— your Ms. Chang, the Emperor, his bodyguard— they know that you’re just Alphonse Elric, an amazing kid who managed to help his older brother cheat Truth and get their bodies back.”

“That’s still aggrandizement.” Al deadpanned. “Just  _ self  _ aggrandizement.”

“Well it’s always good to have confidence.” Hughes laughed. 

“So, have you come to a decision then Alphonse?” Mustang asked. 

“I have… Now I just don’t know how to break it to Brother.”


	10. August 13th – December 15th, 1918

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is where that "Minor Character Death" tag becomes relevant.

_August 13th, 1918_

* * *

“I was thinking of retiring.” Ed said as they walked out onto the field. 

“Yes, I heard from Hawkeye.”

“You’re… You’re  _ not  _ surprised.”

“Fullmetal, I kept tabs on you while you traipsed around Amestris, why do you think I wouldn’t know what you were planning in my own office? Especially when you had already  _ told Hawkeye? _ ”

“Okay, fair point bastard.” Ed grumbled, taking a seat on the wooden deck. “Well, since you know, I might as well let you know that I’m extending my time.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t made Führer yet, obviously bastard.”

“That might just be the stupidest reason for extending your service I have ever heard, and I’ve heard some stupid things pass through the mouths of soldiers.”

“Yeah well, it’s the best you’re getting outta me. Just be thankful I don’t quit now.”

“Oh  **_whatever_ ** would I do without having to look over and sign off on your damage reports Fullmetal?” Mustang sneered, hands on his hips. “You should get up, we’re not conducting an assessment if you’re just going to lay there.”

“Ugh, what the hell’s the point of this anyways? You’re not gonna send me out into a war zone anytime soon, and the whole national conspiracy’s kinda gone now if you’ve forgotten, no need to keep their traditions when we don’t need ‘em.”

“Bitch to Grumman about it then.  _ He _ said we still need State Alchemist reviews, and considering that  _ you  _ are still a State Alchemist and have been for the past almost a decade, you’re lucky that you’ve only had to do 2, not including this one.”

“I’d rather not do them at all.”

“Too bad.” Mustang pointed to where a large amount of dirt had been shaped into a platform. “Now get on that platform and do some alchemy. Really Fullmetal, it’s not like I’m trying to pull your teeth out of your head.”

“Ugh,  _ fine. _ ” He got up and walked over to the platform. Alchemizing himself a quick lift to the top of it, Ed had to quickly roll away from said lift as he heard a faint snap and then it was lit on fire. “What the fuck Mustang?!”

“Looks as though your situational awareness is as sharp as ever.” He said blandly. 

“You nearly set me on  _ fire. _ ”

“No, I set your platform on fire, there is a difference Fullmetal.” Ed… really had no words for that. So he flipped Mustang off instead. “Just be happy I didn’t ask Hawkeye to conduct this test.”

“What, would she have shot at me?”

“Funnily enough, yes.” 

“That has  _ got  _ to be child endangerment in some way.”

“Last I checked, 18 doesn’t count as being a minor.” Ed cut himself off from firing off another barb. Just  _ hearing  _ that come from Mustang’s mouth made everything seem a little more unreal. He was  _ 18 _ , more or less an adult in the eyes of society. 

But he still felt like he was 12, walking into Mustang’s office for the first time. Had so much time gone by already? He didn’t get too much time to dwell on the issue before he heard another snap and had to start moving. Ed clapped, and alchemized a wall of dirt before deciding that if Mustang didn’t have line of sight his level of threat would be reduced. So he clapped again and transmuted the dirt so that it formed a veritable labyrinth of walls. 

“That defense won’t hold for long Fullmetal.”

“I just need it to hold for long enough.” Ed shot back, already transmuting a spear from the dirt. Bracing himself against the wall as he heard loud explosions come from his right, Ed scaled the wall by his left and hopped on top of his maze. Almost immediately, another fireball was sent his way, but Ed parried it with the spear. 

“Stone?”

“Sandy soil around these parts.” Ed shrugged before he performed a backflip to land on a different wall. “Anyways, what’s the point of this? I would be happy to just play keep away all day if you really want to get out of your paperwork that bad, but I  _ actually _ have things to do today.” Another well-timed snap forced Ed back again, and then—

Mustang transmuted the dirt from underneath him, emulating the trick Ed had pulled off with the stone pavements of Central when he had fought McDougal, deconstructing it so that he would land almost on top of Ed. Bringing the spear up to force Mustang to land on _ that _ , so he’d have to push off and land farther from Ed, he internally berated himself for forgetting that Mustang  _ also  _ knew clap alchemy, though he wouldn’t blame himself too much, since the man didn’t really use it all that often.

Ed flung himself backwards, going back in for a clash, then regretting it as Mustang aimed a kick at his leg. He hit the automail one thankfully, and Ed swiped at his head. 

“Watch it! You’re almost taking my head off there!”

“Oh like you didn’t almost kill me the last time we did this!”

“No, I  _ didn’t  _ actually, because I actually have some semblance of  _ control  _ Fullmetal!” He backed off, seemingly considering his options. 

“Yeah,  _ control _ , is  _ that  _ what you call explosions that were  _ this  _ close to frying me?!”

“You weren’t even  _ that _ hurt!”

“Hospital stay bastard, or did you forget?!”

“Maybe you’re conflating all your hospital visits, after all, you  _ did  _ seem to land yourself in the ER too many times to  _ count! _ ” 

“Like you were any better!” They clashed again, this time Mustang  _ did  _ hit his flesh leg, and Ed had to do a strange motion to keep his balance. “Shit, you haven’t changed at all bastard.” Ed said as Mustang advanced, fingers clearly positioned to snap. 

“Is that so?” He asked, eyebrow arched loftily. 

“Yeah.” Ed jumped to his feet, and aimed the spear to slice across his glove on the right hand. As soon as he was clear past Mustang, he turned, aiming to get the other glove before Mustang could snap and barbecue him, but he hadn’t counted on Mustang  _ catching  _ the butt of the spear and locking him in place. 

“This is certainly a familiar situation.” He mocked. “So much for changing Fullmetal.” Ed scowled, and yanked. They stood, not moving a muscle, just staring at each other. It reminds him of when they first met, when Mustang stared at him from across the table, disdain written plainly on his face. 

_ “To live your life with hopelessness and a piece of armor for a brother! Or to sell yourself to the military for the possibility that you can recover! It is your choice. Even if the path is a muddy river.” _

Ed twirled the spear as a distraction, watching as Mustang tracked its movements, and as soon as he figured he had him, he dropped the spear and clapped the ground, jumping back as the transmutation took effect, forming a spike and tearing a hole through Mustang’s jacket. 

“Brat.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Ed quipped, transmuting another spear. He eyed what was left of the flat sections of the platform. He  _ could  _ make it down there without snapping his leg… 

He dropped, turning the spear horizontally to catch him using the walls before he hit the ground. Dropping, he was immediately on the defensive as Mustang snapped and Ed felt a hot fireball barely miss singing his hair. Scowling, Ed formed a stone shield, but just as he finished, he staggered under a sharp increase of weight on his arms. Realizing that Mustang had in fact, landed on his shield, Ed abandoned it via dropping it, and clapped, deconstructing it, even though he knew Mustang would have already gotten off. 

_ “What a tiresome name...I’ll take it!” _

The memory of Mustang presenting Ed with his pocket watch flashed in his mind as he aimed to grab Mustang by the collar, the older man dodging just barely as he flung himself backwards. Ed landed beside him, and they grappled for a few minutes, Ed using the fact that Mustang was in uniform to his advantage by grabbing his pocket watch and using it as a makeshift mace, nearly landing a few hits on Mustang’s face. Mustang eventually kicked off of him, dislodging the watch and sending it flying. 

He heard the crackle of transmutation behind him as Mustang clapped the ground, and Ed scrambled to his feet. The shifting stone  _ did  _ knock him back flat on his ass though, and he lay there, dazed for a moment before coming back to his senses and transmuting a spear. 

Just in time too, as Mustang had sent another fireball his way. Go with what you know he guessed. He attempted to deflect it, but he was caught off guard by the stone melting to slag. Dropping his now useless spear, Ed ran to avoid the next jet of flame. As he avoided what felt like the infinitieth plus one stream of fire, Ed realized that every time Mustang’s flames hit the dirt walls, it created a cloud of smoke, and the air was getting hazier.

_ If I get him to make a big enough explosion _ — _! _

_ “It’s only because you make a show of it.”  _

The quip from Mustang after he had captured the train hijackers made Ed pause. 

“It’s always a lesson with you  **_Colonel_ ** .” He huffed, and raised the platform up high. “Conniving  _ bastard! _ ” Ed raised the platform high above the smog, and then jumped off, just over where the last explosion had been. He felt his leg collide with a solid mass that went  _ down _ , and Ed grinned sharply. 

“What was that you talked about? All warfare is based on the art of deception? Shoulda taken your own lesson Colonel.”

“ _ General. _ ” Came the gritted, tired response from Mustang.

“Eh, you’ll always be Colonel to me.  _ You  _ should get used to calling me Elric.”

* * *

_ November 4th, 1918 _

* * *

“How do you convince Brother to do anything Major Hawkeye?” Al asked her as they rode the train to Table City.

“I don’t typically convince your brother of anything except at gunpoint.” She deadpanned. “And call me Riza, Alphonse.”

“Only if you call me Al.” He shot back, a smile on his face as she rolled her eyes. “But really, Major?” She shifted in her seat.

“What’s this about Al?” She asked, leaning down to grab her thermos. 

“My trip to Xing next year.”

“Ah, yes, he’s been a little…  _ excitable  _ about that.”

“Excitable is a word for it.” Al grumbled. Ed hadn't stopped pestering him about leaving for the past  _ month. _

_ I should have told him the news sooner to the date when I was going to leave…  _ “I’m not a child any longer Major!” He said hotly. “So I don’t see why Brother is being so… so overprotective! It’s not like I’m going to be seeing people we don’t know, I’m staying with Ling and May and Lan Fan! He  _ trusts  _ them!”

“You feel as though he doesn’t trust you.” She said, not unkindly. 

“I—... No, I don’t...” Al slumped and stared moodily out the window. “...I guess I do.”

“I figured you did. I sometimes feel that way when the General insists on me hanging back at base.”

“But—” Al racked his memory for a time he had ever seen the General without Hawkeye at his side. He was coming up with only a handful, restricted to times when Hawkeye was sick or otherwise incapacitated (well, ignoring her recent solo stint at Central Command), and even then he knew that occasionally she would still find a way to be by his side even then— “I’ve almost never seen him without you though.”

“Because I know not to give in to his demands, because they’re usually demands born out of paranoia and worry. It’s likely that Ed’s worries are manifesting in the same way, he’s worried about you and a little scared, and now he’s doing his best to stop you from going.” 

“That sounds frustratingly like something Brother would do.” Al sighed. “He really takes after the Col— General in some ways.”

“Colonel?”

“Brother’s been calling the General ‘Colonel’ a lot lately, I guess it’s rubbed off a little on me.” Al laughed. 

“Well I suppose that explains  _ that _ .” She sighed. “I’ve had to break up more fights between the two of them these past few months than in the entirety of the rest of their working relationship. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.”

“I’ll have a word with Brother about it.” Al said with a smile. 

“There’s no need to do that Alphonse.” The train went into a tunnel, plunging their car into sudden darkness. As they reemerged, Al noticed the Major staring at him intently, and blushed, self-consciousness borne from the time spent in the armor rearing its ugly head. 

“Is there something on my face? A bit of jam maybe?”

“No Al, I’m just thinking back on something. You boys certainly have come a far way, haven’t you?”

* * *

_ November 5th, 1918 _

* * *

“So Milosian alchemy is really just a branch of Cretan alchemy?” Julia asked as she peered over Ed’s shoulder.

“Yeah, so in relation to Xerxian alchemy, which we’ll just call alchemy prime for now to make things simpler, Milosian alchemy is… 10 branches removed from alchemy prime, and by the Amestrian definition that more or less qualifies as being sufficiently different from alchemy prime to be its own unique thing.”

“What about alkahestry, or even just regular alchemy?”

“What we call regular alchemy in Amestris is a bit misleading, you see, alchemy didn’t get brought over to Amestris for a  _ while  _ following the Xerxian collapse, and along the way it picked up a lot of changes and mutations. The closest thing Amestris has to the pure alchemy prime would be the alchemy taught wayyy out east, like in Mitätsch.”

“So as long as a branch of alchemy is just... different enough it can become its own unique thing?” Julia asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice. 

“That’s what I said.” Ed reminded. “It’s a bit more complicated than that of course, each so-called unique branch does still have to be able to be emulated in some capacity by other branches. Think how you can use both alkahestry and alchemy to  _ transform  _ things, but only alkahestry can be done at range. The core concepts have to stay the same, Comprehension, Deconstruction, Reconstruction. Those don’t change over the disciplines. The  _ praxis _ , the actual practice of those disciplines does.”

“But in Milosian alchemy—” Julia started to say—

“Yeah, I know, there’s an added component, Separation, right?” She nodded.

“Because we use magma as the source of energy, rather than the Dragon’s Pulse or tectonic movement—”

“Though a case could be made that you  _ do  _ use tectonic movement—” Ed interrupted. 

“Anyways, because we use magma, you think that forced the implementation of a new stage in the process?”

“I’ve never seen anyone be able to do plant alchemy or utilize three different effects from the same array, so I’m guessing that it has to do with a unique feature of Milosian alchemy, and our best bet is that they arise from the change Separation brings to the transmutation. Because you aren’t separating the atoms and elements that make up the things you reconstruct, are you? That’s just deconstruction, no, you’re separating out the  _ source energy  _ from the transmutation, and unlike other branches of alchemy, that energy is treated as a sort of excess, an excess that can take on other forms, be molded into other things. It’s inefficient, but useful.” He summed up. 

“But then, if it’s so counterintuitive… Why would Amestris be interested in our alchemy, you just said that it’s inefficient—”

“Julia.” Ed said sharply. “I won’t lie to you. Amestris is  _ better  _ than it was a few years back, but that doesn’t mean we’ve suddenly lost all sense of what to  _ do  _ when it comes to intimidating neighbors. You don’t lose that kind of history easily. Grumman’s interested in Milos because you’re an  _ opportunity.  _ Just like Ishval was an  _ opportunity  _ to Aerugo.”

“What?” Julia asked quietly. “But… I thought that Aerugo only helped  _ after  _ the war was declared—”

“A lot of Amestris’ history is biased, I’ll admit, but Bradley didn’t even need to mess with this one because it’s just  _ true.  _ Aerugo saw that there was tension between Amestris and the newly conquered Ishval, what with a  **_lot_ ** of the East passing down tales the whole ‘Empire of Ishvala’ thing from back before Amestris was even in the area, and then later on in the Unification Wars, how Ishval didn’t help them resist Amestris. A lot of Easterners resented ‘em for it, thought the wars would have ended differently if they had helped. I say it wouldn’t have changed shit, given that Amesris literally filled in a whole internal sea, but whatever, tension was there, Aerugo exploited it for its own needs, primarily— getting Amestris off  _ its  _ turf and onto a  _ softer target _ .” He watched as Julia’s expression fell. 

“I just want Milos, my  _ people  _ to be free.”

“And I sympathize with that Julia, and it’s not like Grumman has any desire to start conquering, but the thing is, just because we don’t have a homunculus at the head of state doesn’t mean we aren’t a bunch of cutthroat, ruthless  _ bastards _ come diplomacy time. So you want freedom? Great, you have it. The question now, is how are you gonna  _ maintain _ that freedom? Grumman sent me here to see if I could get anything useful out of you that might help keep Creta pinned between two enemies.  _ I _ came here to try and help you, but I  _ also  _ want to learn more about your alchemy.  _ You _ want Milos to stay independent, and also to keep Amestrian interests focused on Creta.  _ Creta _ wants you gone and Amestris’ attention directed somewhere else.”

“Politics is a headache.” She groaned. “I’m already at my limit trying to clean up the area— Wait!” She glared at Ed. “I have a bone to pick with your Führer, we were supposed to get Table City back! That was the deal!”

“The deal  _ you  _ made with  _ Creta _ . Creta knew what they were getting out of the deal.  _ You  _ didn’t. Creta knew that Amestris wasn’t going to just up and leave Table City, and they used that knowledge against you by claiming they’d relinquish control over to you. You didn’t.”

“That’s… Things were supposed to be  _ better  _ after we became free, but now all we have is problems, and it just feels like everything is falling down around me… Especially since Ashleigh just… up and  _ left! _ ” Ed winced. Maybe he’d been a bit too hard on Julia, after all, it had taken him a good year or two to fully absorb all of Mustang’s political bullshit, but then again the man had been practically  _ asking _ for Ed to be ignorant given that he gave those lessons in the most  _ obscure way possible. _

But military power plays aside, Julia didn’t  **_have_ ** the luxury of time. Milos’ small territory and smaller population combined with the rock bottom living conditions meant that she would have to rely on foreign aid to prop her country up, as well as defend it from Cretan incursions until Milos could do so on its own. And considering how well the  _ last  _ time Amestrian forces had intervened in Milos… Well, it was going to be an uphill battle. 

“There’s a saying we have in Amestris—  _ Es ist ratsam, welke Blumen zu entfernen.  _ It is advisable to remove wilted flowers— it’s a turn of phrase we use to describe a lot of actions, not just pruning a garden. You can use it in the sense that it is better to let go of dead weight in order to pursue to brighter future, or that it is good to make things simpler, in order to handle them more easily. It’s a phrase with a lot of utility, and it applies to your situation. Julia, you should let go of Ashleigh for now, obsessing over him won’t help Milos, won’t help your people.”

“How can you say that! Of all people, Ed, you should know how important he is to me!”

“I do. That’s why I’m telling you that you have to move past him. You can’t sacrifice the world for one person, as an alchemist you know this yourself, something like that isn’t equivalent.” She started to tear up, and Ed put a comforting hand on her back. “I’m sorry Julia.” He whispered.

After a few minutes, Julia finally stopped crying. She wiped at her face, and her mouth was set in a determined line. 

“I’m going to think on what you said. In the meantime… Feel free to continue to look through anything you want on Milosian alchemy. I… Even though we’re mostly likely going to end up on separate sides of these negotiations… I still want to see what you make of it.”

“Still friends then?” Ed asked wryly. She nodded, then giggled.

“Milosians don’t cut off friendships so quickly, and besides, you were trying to help.” She walked out of the private library, and Ed returned to the book balanced on his knee. 

_ Milosian alchemy has evolved alongside the changing country. Having started as a branch to Cretan alchemy, it has undergone a series of changes, including the gradual transition from a combat preeminent alchemy, to one where more mundane means are at its focus, such as agriculture and healing. However, just as the people of Milos are friendly but have cores of steel, Milosian alchemy has not forgotten its origins in combat. _

Ed smirked, Julia would be fine.

* * *

_ December 15th, 1918 _

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Winry placed her bouquet of flowers next to the casket, and stepped back as she struggled to hold back her tears. She felt Ed place his hand on her back, rubbing circles into it, and drawing her close. 

“I… I can’t believe Granny is—” Her voice broke off into a cry, and she buried her face in Ed’s chest. She was dimly aware of Al walking over to comfort her as well, but she didn’t bother to make any indication that she acknowledged his presence. 

“I know, Win. I know.” Ed said, holding her securely. As all three of them stood there, almost like rigid statues, Winry heard people walking over to give their condolences, wish them well, and express their sorrow over Pinako’s death, but she felt too hollowed out to even respond to them. Al took her hand, his fingers, just like Ed’s, drawn into drawing circles on her palm. She remembered distantly that this had been a technique Trisha Elric had taught to the three of them, a discreet way of showing someone you cared about that you were  _ there _ , that you were trying to comfort them. 

It didn’t feel right, she was supposed to come back to Resembool this month anyways, but it was supposed to be for an evaluation of her time running her clinic, it wasn’t supposed to— It wasn’t supposed to be for a funeral… 

“Come on, let’s go inside.” Al said as Ed shifted to her side, sandwiching her between them, just like when they’d been kids, walking home from school in the afternoons. They walked in silence, and when they got back to the house, Winry was helped into a chair by Ed, and the brothers busied themselves doing mundane tasks. 

Winry stared ahead at the pin board filled with photos, and barely reacted when Den nudged her legs, a whine being drawn from him when she didn’t lean down to hug or pet him. As she stared, she nearly startled when a cream mug was placed in front of her. 

“Here.” Al said, taking a seat to her left. “It’s hot chocolate… I didn’t think you were up to much else.” Winry took the mug, her hands trembling as he sipped at it. It reminded her of when Granny Pianko would make some for her, during the winter months, of how they would’ve made it together with dad before he left— 

“Thanks Al.” Her voice was raw and choked as she set the mug down. He smiled, strained, and wrapped her in a brief hug. 

“We’re always here if you need us.” He studied her for a minute more before walking off into the living room, calling Den out with him. She appreciated the gesture, even if the words felt a little hollow at this point. 

_ You’re going to be leaving soon Al, you shouldn’t promise what you don’t mean to keep. _ The bitter, resentful thought was only a little surprising, since even before the funeral she wasn’t exactly keen on Al just moving out all on his own to a different country where he didn’t even know the language. And now… Well, of course she wanted her support group close by. 

“Oh, Winry… I thought you would have gone to your room...” Ed said as he jumped the last stair, wincing, then looking despondent when he realized that Granny Pinako wouldn’t shout at him now to stop “jumping straight through the floor”. “I… I found this letter, it’s for you. I— I didn’t read it— I’ll just… leave this with you.” 

“Al’s in the parlor.” Ed nodded, took a look at where she had been staring, winced, then left the room, placing the letter on the table before he did so. Winry got up to take the letter, glanced at the open door to the parlor, and headed to the room where she and Granny had often worked on automail.

As she opened the door to the surgery, she nearly started crying all over again, the familiar smell of automail oils and steel making her remember all the time she spent in this room, working with Granny, listening to her advice and arguing with her. 

She sat down on the patient bed and opened the letter. 

_ Dear Winry,  _

_ I’m not one for long, flowing speeches, or the like, I am an Easternwoman, born and raised and I’ll write my will like one too. I know I won’t be long for this world, it’s a miracle I’ve lived for so long really. In any case, on the subject of your apprenticeship, I made you take on your own practice as insurance, and from your reports you have been doing well. I know the Rockbell brand will be in good hands. You will always have the clinic in Resembool as insurance if your business in Central ever goes under, as I’ve bequeathed the house and practice to you. Den as well, though I probably don’t need to say that. That dog barely leaves the house as is. _

_ As for my monetary assets, I’ve left the majority to you as well, 80 percent of it, with the other 20 being split between those two brats, to whom I’ve also left copies of my will to.  _

_ I don’t have many last wishes either, just to bury me beside your parents in the family plot. _

_ I won’t tell you not to cry for me Winry, but I will tell you to not dwell on my death for too long. My purpose in making you open that practice was to grant you independence, to make you grow up. You have people depending on you now, so while it may seem cruel, I want you to move on, at least eventually. You are still my granddaughter, and I will never ask you to not grieve.  _

_ As for what eventually took me, the doctor says it’s a bad mix of old age and the toll drinking took on my body. Learn from my mistakes Winry, I don’t want to see you in the afterlife until you’re an old, old woman, older than me.  _

_ I love you Winry, that will never change, even as I lay in the ground.  _

_ Live a good life, _

_ Pinako Rockbell _

The brusque, blunt way the letter was worded almost made Winry think her grandmother was standing right in front of her, lecturing her. 

She clutched the letter close to her chest, and she started to cry, silently this time. In the middle of her crying, she heard twin sobs from outside, probably Ed and Al (or rather, Al was the one she could  _ hear _ ) finishing their own letters from Pinako. Eventually, she stopped crying, and she wiped at her face. Ignoring her appearance for now, she walked into the eerily empty kitchen. She knew that for the next week or so, the neighbors would all come by to help cook and clean the house, as was Resembool tradition, but for now they were on their own. 

Winry searched for the recipe book she knew was hidden in the cupboards and set it down with a thunk. Flipping to the back, she found the recipe for her Granny’s stew. 

“ _ Cube the meat...warm the pot and sear it _ —” She read the instructions off twice, memorizing them, then went to fetch the ingredients she knew would be there in the cupboard, fridge, and freezer. 

(Granny always made stew when Ed and Al came over, so why would this time be any different?) 

She paused when she found a pot of stock in the freezer. Smiling at her grandmother’s thoughtfulness, Winry pulled it out, and set it on the stove to warm up. Still, she had memorized the recipe, and there was no point in not at least  _ trying  _ to make some more (what with Ed and his black hole of a stomach), so she decided to make some anyway.

After about 3 hours the stew was finished, during which she heard Ed and Al come in from outside and head to their rooms, then walk downstairs into the annex room where they used to practice and theorize about alchemy, and have a small argument (or maybe it was a simple discussion, she couldn’t hear them very clearly, but she knew she heard raised voices), then go outside again. 

Pouring her granny’s stew into bowls and putting a lid on her own, Winry walked outside, the cool evening air brushing her hair into her face. Al and Ed were sitting on the bench on the porch, chatting quietly. It seemed as though whatever argument they had been in had been resolved, granted not without coming to slight blows, judging by Al having a bruise on his cheek, and Ed’s hair having fallen out of its ponytail. 

“Granny made stew for us.” She said, setting their bowls down on the small table one of them had transmuted. “Don’t forget to put that wood back when we’re done.” She said, though there was no heat behind her words. 

“Or what, you’ll toss a wrench at our heads?” Ed laughed, but it sounded hollow. He picked up his bowl, and shifted the contents around with his spoon. “Is this even safe? When’d she even have time to make this?”

“Brother!” Al snapped. “Don’t be rude!” The conversation was… Was so  _ normal  _ that Winry almost expected Granny to walk out of the house, the slow cooker in her arms, and a wooden spoon at her disposal to chuck at Ed’s head. 

“It’s fine Al, Ed just can’t help inserting his foot into his mouth. Anyways, it looks like Granny spent pretty much all of her last days at home, and she made the stew before she was fully confined to the bed by the doctor, so about a few weeks ago. But she froze it, so it would’ve been good for a good few months anyways.” 

“If we end up sick off this, you’re paying for the hospital bills Winry.” Ed deadpanned. They started to eat, and Winry savored the taste, one which she was likely to never taste again. The evening breeze made them all huddle together, just like when they were kids. 

When they had all finally finished off the stew, they were all exhausted from the highly emotional day they’d had, and went to bed, movements still sluggish and a little mechanical. Just before she could enter her room, Ed walked over to wrap her in a hug. 

“...It’s gonna be all right, okay? It’s gonna be all right eventually.”

“...Thanks Ed, but I just want to sleep right now. We can talk in the morning.” She tore herself from his embrace, and collapsed on her bed. 

In her dreams, Granny was still alive, and the stew didn’t taste of her tears.


	11. January 2nd – December 30th, 1919

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who read the preview, a certain scene will seem very familiar to you.

_January 2nd, 1919_

* * *

With all that had happened, Al felt.... Uncomfortable leaving. He should’ve stayed to help Winry and Ed, should’ve stayed to work through his own feelings on Pinako’s death, but in the end, he left anyways. 

Granted, this was after a long and  _ loud  _ argument with Ed, wherein they had seemingly swapped their positions on the topic of Al leaving. All of a sudden, Ed wanted Al to go, and Al wanted to stay. 

_ “We don’t break promises Al.”  _ Ed had said, glaring at him. “ _ You promised May that you’d learn alkahestry from her. We promised the chimeras to find a cure. And we made a promise too. To explore the world and find out all the secrets of alchemy. _ ”

Which were all events that had indeed transpired, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to stay in Resembool and put off travelling to Xing for another year. 

“It’s a good thing the tracks finally got extended out to Xing, I was afraid Ling would stall until Col—  _ General  _ Mustang was made Führer.” Al smiled, after accepting his luggage from Mrs. Hughes and walking out with them. He had already said his goodbyes to everyone else, so Brother and Winry would be the last ones to see him off at the station.

“You and Ed both keep calling him Colonel, it’s like you have a death wish.” Winry sighed. “And I understand why  _ Ed  _ does it, but why you Al?”

“Brother’s just rubbed off on me I guess.” Al deferred, throwing a mock glare over at his older brother. Ed snorted, but didn’t respond to the barbs. They continued talking as they walked, Ed and Winry pointing things out Al might not have access to in Xing and that they’d send him in care packages. 

“Oh, and I read in  _ Deshaies’ Applied Automail & Biomechanics  _ that there’s a possibility that there are some flora and fauna that can help improve automail oils!” Winry got in Al’s face. “If those  _ do _ exist, you get me some. No negotiations.” Al glanced at Ed to see if he was going to help out, but Brother merely stood back, smirking at him, happy to seemingly not be the target of Winry’s automail obsession. 

“S-Sure Winry...” Al chuckled nervously. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

“And you have to send me your notes too!” Brother grinned. “Antiklea Tech is already breathing down my throat to publish our prelim notes on Inequivalent Exchange, and not to mention Teacher—” They both shivered at the reminder. 

When Al had gone around to say his goodbyes to everyone, he had, of course, stopped by Teacher’s house in Dublith. He just hadn’t anticipated her response to his: “I’m going to Xing for research purposes” to be met with: “If you don’t send me your notes on a monthly basis, I will drag you back here with my own two hands, and don’t think that emperor scares me.”

When he had frantically asked  _ why  _ she had only stared him down, then solemnly clapped her hands and pressed them to the wooden table, transmuting a small figurine of his old armor. Which explained everything really. It was just her way of expressing concern, even if it  _ was  _ utterly terrifying. 

“Well, she’s right, sending back your notes every month at least lets us know that you didn’t get caught up in like, clan politics, or however politics works over in Xing.” Winry said, humming as they passed by a boutique. “Oh, wait, you should buy some gifts for Ling, Lan Fan, and May!”

“Wait, what—”

“Winry, his train leaves in 2 hour—”

“We have plenty of time!” Winry brushed aside their concerns. “And it’s not like Einkaufsstraße is far anyways!” Al and Ed shared a suffering look as they let Winry take lead and drag them down the main shopping street of East City. 

Winry dragged them up and down the street, battering him and Brother with questions about what the trio might like. 

_ “Uh, Ling’s kinda just always eating, so maybe food? Lan Fan would probably like a good knife or something? And how should I know what the pipsqueak likes!?” _

_ “Ling… He’s from the Yao clan, I think they’re a merchant clan, I think May described them as what we would call nouveau riche, but still… just buying him something wouldn’t cut it, maybe a special artesian craft? Or a game they wouldn’t have in Xing? Lan Fan... She’s a lot like Major Hawkeye, so maybe we can use her as a baseline? And May… May would probably like an alchemy journal or two from Amestris...” Al mused.  _

_ “Wait, are you seriously bringing the pipsqueak into our research?” Ed had asked suspiciously.  _

_ “What, no! That’s between us! But she’s still interested in Amestrian alchemy!” _

_ “You both are hopeless.” Winry had deadpanned.  _

In the end, they had barely spent anytime on Einkaufsstraße at all, only pausing by a bakery to pick up snacks as they walked, but otherwise they had drifted over to the section of East City lovingly nicknamed “Mechanic’s Corner.” Winry was in her element, darting over to a display of replica Swords of Mercy, and looking over them with a critical eye. 

“Well, let’s let her do her thing, let’s see if we can’t get somethin’ for May I guess.” Ed said.

“Not Ling?”

“Eh, she’s easier to shop for.” He shrugged. Al rolled his eyes but followed his lead anyways. 

* * *

He stared at the journals in his hands. “Brother!  _ Trismegistus, The Principals of Alchemy, Analytís or On Tinctures? _ ”

“Isn’t alkahestry all about spirituality? Shouldn’t we be looking in the ones that focus on that aspect? So  _ Telikí Apochí, Arche, Entelechy,  _ or  _ Turba Philosophorum? _ ”

“Maybe one from each section?” 

“That works.” Al frowned, weighing the value of the three in his hands, trusting Ed to pick out a good one from the philosophical ones. Sighing and putting down all but  _ The Principals of Alchemy _ , Al joined his brother at the counter. “What did you pick?”

“ _ Arche. _ ” Ed said. “You?”

“ _ Principals.  _ I would have picked  _ Analytís _ , but there’s a lot that she might not know, what with it being written in the Old Script and all.” They paid and exited the store. “We should probably rejoin Winry now, she’s probably done.” Returning to Mechanic’s Corner, they found Winry, who was glancing between two items. As they rejoined her, she turned to Ed. 

“I decided to pick up a book on simple automail modifications.”

“I thought you were gonna get something from that sword vendor.”

“I figure she has all the weapons she could ever want, so Al should focus on more… well, non-combat things. And it’s not like he’s going to teach her something like Mordstreich, if anything, she probably already  _ knows  _ it. And it’s not like they have automail mechanics in Xing.” She shrugged, handing him the book. “So did you two get May’s gift?” Al nodded. “Then that leaves just Ling… And we still have 40 minutes to catch your train, _ and _ get something to eat for lunch.” Winry grinned. “Anyways, I have an  _ idea _ for Ling.”

“Really? Because I was about to just get him a book of fairy tales or something.” Ed snorted.

“This is why  _ you  _ weren’t allowed to make actual gifts for Aguillan when we were kids!” She exclaimed, turning to Al with an exasperated sigh. “ _ Anyways _ , Al, you should get him a Bleigießen kit!”

“That might actually interest him… And I don’t think Xing has a tradition like that...”

“Then that’s what we’ll get him!”

“Woah, when did this turn into a “ _we_ ” gift? These are _Al’s_ gifts.” Ed interjected. “I’m not buying _anything_ for the bastard until he pays me back for room service.” 

“Oh, get over it!” Winry berated him while Al snuck off to go buy Ling’s gift.

* * *

He met back up with them at the train station, bags all packed and ready to go. 

“So, we’ll see you come December, right Al?”

“Right.” Al confirmed, pausing before he got on board. He wrapped them both into a hug, then broke it as the train’s whistle went off. “Goodbye Winry, Brother. I’ll miss you.”

“Aw, don’t say that Al! You’re going to make me cry!” Winry cried out, hugging him back tighter. Ed frowned, punching Al in the arm. 

“Jeez Al, you make it sound like you’re never coming back. You  _ just _ said that you’re coming home in December.” Al didn’t comment on the tears starting to bead up at the corners of his eyes. Al smiled, set his bags down, and hugged them both again, picked his bags back up, then hopped on the train. He found an empty seat and quickly leaned out the window. 

“Auf Wiedersehen für jetzt!” He called out, the traditional Eastern greeting slipping easily from his lips. Sitting back down, Al closed the window, and fixed his now wind-blown hair. Smiling, he stowed his bags under his chair, and let out a happy sigh. 

Yes, he still believed that he could have spared a month or two to stay in Resembool, but he found that saying goodbye like this, at the time of the year that was supposed to symbolize new beginnings was heartwarming in a way. He leaned back in the chair, bought a newspaper when the porter for his car passed by, and settled in to read.

* * *

_ March 21st, 1919 _

* * *

The only thought running through Ed’s head at the moment was that it was _loud_ out here. Of course, it was to be expected, what with the military band playing _Jubillee of Central_ and almost everyone in the crowd screaming their lungs out as the new Führer-President smiled and looked pretty for the people as he walked out on stage.

Ed fiddled with the hem of his signature coat as he sat up in a tree, well out of sight of anyone on the ground. He wasn’t  _ meant  _ to be in Central anyways, on pain of “political favoritism” or some other such bullshit. Not that the ceremony in front of him wasn’t  _ also  _ a farce. He could practically see the strained politeness in those smiles.

He watched as Grumman shook hands with Mustang, and said something to him that was lost in the elated crowd’s cheers and general delight. Then they both turned to the crowd and said something that was lost under the booming drums and brass of the military band. 

Whatever it was that had been said, it seemed to stir the crowd up even more, and at that point, Ed resigned himself to temporary hearing loss.

Soon though, the whole pomp and circumstance came to an end, leaving Mustang alone on the stage, running through a speech that was so  _ lacking  _ in Mustang’s usual…  _ Mustangisms  _ that Ed immediately knew that it had been run through several different people including Hawkeye and Falman before he could even begin to start memorizing it. The man sounded bored out of his mind to anyone who knew him. Still, the crowd liked it, and that was the important thing. Mustang said what were clearly his closing notes, and Ed slipped out of the tree just as the band started to play the national anthem  _ Geh nach Westen, junger Mann _ .

* * *

“Here ya go bastard.” Ed said, tossing his watch onto the desk. 

“What’s this?”

“My resignation.” Ed grinned at Mustang’s displeased face. 

“There are  _ protocols  _ you have to follow.”

“Never been one for tradition.” Mustang rolled his eyes, popped open the watch’s face, and Ed watched his face descended into confusion, then recognition.

“...520 cenz.”

“Exact same ones too.” Ed smirked. Mustang sighed. 

“You always surprise me. Well, I suppose this is it then, the end of your tenure in the military.”

“I thought you said I had to go through the protocols?”

“I never liked paperwork anyways.” Mustang shrugged. 

“Oh, wait, before I go, I need to borrow some money.”

“What  _ for _ ? Last I checked, you were still rich.”

“Yeah, but the  _ banks are closed  _ right now, in case you forgot  _ Mr. Führer-President. _ ” Ed mocked. “So. Money. I need to borrow some.” Mustang sighed again.

“How much?”

“1,040 cenz.”

“I’m sorry,  _ how much? _ ” Ed shrugged. 

“Resembool’s a remote place, what can I say?”

“You’re going to bankrupt me one day.” Mustang grumbled as he reached into his pocket and counted out the money. The bastard had given it to him all in  _ coins _ . The  _ ass _ . 

“The train operator is going to kill me when he sees this shit, what the hell Mustang!”

“If they complain, just tell them to bring it up with me.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just an asshole.” Ed griped, swiping the coins off of the desk. “If I didn’t know Hawkeye’d put a bullet in me for even trying, I’d deck you in the face.”

“You could  _ try _ shortstack.”

“ _ I am  _ **_your_ ** _ height Mustang don’t even  _ **_start—_ ** ” The other man laughed, and tucked the pocket watch that had still been sitting out on the counter into his desk. Ed watched him put it away in silence. It felt like this was the end.

Ed clutched the coins tighter. This  _ wasn’t  _ the end, and he’d keep borrowing and repaying his debt just to make it so. “...You know you’re not seeing these for a while right?”

“Oh, I know. What was it that you said back then? That you weren’t going to repay me until I made this country a democracy?”

“Yeah, so you don’t get to throw yourself to the wolves just yet bastard. You tell Hawkeye that too, or I’ll rope Havoc into borrowing from her.”

“As though Hawkeye couldn’t just  _ threaten  _ him into repaying her.” Ed grinned. 

“She won’t be able to, because if he repays her, I’m gonna come marching right back up here just to kick his ass.”

“I’ll tell Havoc to keep an eye out. Oh, and just because you’re not in the military anymore doesn’t mean you can keep yourself scarce.”

“I don’t think so, I think if I kept coming back to this place, it’d eventually just collapse with all the damage I keep doin’ to it, at least, according to you and your gripes about my damage reports.”

“And it’d all come out of your pocket this time, so it’s no skin off my nose.” Ed flipped him off, and Mustang burst out into laughter again. “I mean it Ed—” Edward paused as he turned to leave. He’d done it again, called him  _ Ed— _ “Don’t shut yourself up in Resembool, and when Al gets back, you tell him that too. We’re going to miss you two up here.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me bringing Winry and the kids along… I’ll make sure to keep a slot open for you jokers in my schedule.” Ed started walking again. “See you Colonel!”

“It’s  _ Führer  _ now!” Mustang called out. 

“Yeah, well, you’ll always be Colonel Bastard to me Mustang.” The older man smirked.

“Well, you’ll always be Fullmetal to me Ed.”

* * *

_ May 1st, 1919 _

* * *

She hadn’t celebrated the Sheep Festival in Resembool in  _ years _ . The last concrete memory she could say she had of celebrating it had been when she was 8, her mother shoving her in her little dirndl and placing a flower crown on her head before letting her loose. After… After that, she had usually holed herself up with Granny working on automail or playing with Ed and Al before they left for their apprenticeship.

She held up the traditional dress in front of herself in the mirror, and frowned. The dress she held had been one Mrs. De Clercq had made for her, and she appreciated it… But it wasn’t  _ her.  _ Winry wasn’t one for dressing up fancily and all that, she preferred her normal clothes, her bandana, t-shirt, and comfy jeans more than any dress anyone could make for her. And it wasn’t like the festival was super formal either, well, as long as she only went out for the touristy part of it that was. 

“ _ Winry, dear, you should attend the festival! We haven’t seen you in years! _ ” Mrs. De Clercq had exclaimed while pushing the clothing into Winry’s arms.  _ “And do bring Edward along, goodness knows you both need some fresh air and sunshine!”  _

Winry frowned and posed differently, then sighed as her appearance in the mirror didn’t change. The dirndl was still… strange. She placed it on her bed, ignoring it for now. Her mind drifted to other concerns, like her clinic in Central. She had gotten used to the place, and people had gotten used to  _ her _ . Plus it wasn’t as though she was the only person working on it now. Granted, Paninya wasn’t  _ reliant  _ on income from the clinic, and probably wouldn’t even be mad if Winry sent her a letter explaining what had happened, but that wasn’t the point. 

Winry was… Well,  _ responsible  _ in part for Paninya, she had helped her relocate to Central City, taken her onboard as an employee, and even promised her that they’d be able to work on combat automail for the military eventually. She had even been making plans to try and contact the brothers who had made the cinématographe. Which was why she was hesitant about staying in Resembool year-round and leaving the Central clinic to someone else. Yes, Resembool was her home, but she had always longed to see the rest of Amestris, to discover new ways for automail to be constructed and implemented for use in everyday life. 

( _ Mommy! Daddy! I wanna go to Central with you! _ )

“Oi! Winry!” And there was the  _ other _ source of her concerns. Ed was going to leave eventually, she knew, they had discussed it soon after Al had left for Xing. He wanted to explore the depths of alchemy too, and she honestly supported him in that. But with Ed gone, Winry didn’t really have many ties to Resembool, at least, not enough to keep her there all the time. 

That was the consequence of living life the way she and Granny had, Winry hadn’t made too many deep connections in the town besides Ed and Al. “Winry!” Ed called out again, and she picked the dirndl up again, pressing it flat over her t-shirt. Still no good. She heard the door open, and she nearly went for her wrench before Ed said: 

“Jeez, how are you still not done yet?” Winry pouted at him, and hugged the dress closer to herself. 

“I’m just… uncertain about wearing this I guess.”

“How do you think I feel about wearing this dumb shirt then?” Ed tugged at the collar of his white button down. “I feel like I can’t breathe in here!”

“Stop exaggerating Ed.” She sighed, and set the dirndl on the bed once more. “...Actually, I have a question.”

“Eh, about what? If it’s about me leaving, I’m gonna come back in year, I promised—”

“It’s not about that, really.” She said. “No… I...” She stared at him, and he stared back. “Ed, do you want to stay in Resembool?” Ed’s eyes widened.

“Uh… Oh.  _ Oh…  _ This is about the shop, isn’t it?” He asked, and Winry was taken aback. 

“How’d you know?”

“Uh, well, when I went up to Central recently, you know, to congratulate Mustang on becomin’ Führer and all that, I may have mentioned the closure of your clinic, and how if anyone was asking for you, they’d have to come swing by Resembool...”

“And he gave you advice?”

“And he  _ smacked  _ me on the head, but you can call that advice I guess, if your definition of  _ advice  _ is as warped as his is anyways.” Winry just  _ knew _ he was leaving something out, but she didn’t press. 

“But… You were right, I’m concerned about the shop. I… I don’t have enough money or employees to be able to run both, at least, not right now, maybe later—” Ed put up a hand. 

“Gear head, I know it’s a  _ little _ hard for you, but try thinking like an alchemist.”

“Not everything has a solution related to alchemy Ed!” She exclaimed, exasperated.

“You’re right, but you’re thinking too big. Think tiny, little, relationships between random concepts that don’t seem like they should be related but are.” Winry huffed, but did as he asked. Then she sighed heavily. 

“Oh.”

“Yes,  _ oh.  _ You figure it out yet?”

“Yes, I could hire people looking to study in automail to manage one of the clinics...”

“And everyone over in Rush Valley  _ adores  _ you, you’d be able to find a  _ bunch  _ of willing people.”

“But I’d be sniping from the pool of workers...”

“And they’d be trying to fish in the same pool as you.” Ed countered. “Look, if it’s that much of a hassle, close down  _ this  _ clinic for a while, ‘cause it’s not like Granny was exactly taking patients for the past few months, and focus on the one in Central until you train enough people to be able to send  _ them  _ down to this clinic.”

“Where were you 5 minutes ago when I was in the middle of that argument?” She laughed. 

“ _ I  _ was getting ready. So, are you putting that on, or what?” He asked.    
  
“...I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”

* * *

The night air was cool on her skin (what little of it that was exposed), as she walked, hand in hand with Ed. They sat down on the cut logs of wood that had been provided, and thankfully accepted the warm cider provided. 

“Wow, I think this beats the cider Mr. Hughes’ family brought over for Aguillan.” Ed said, setting his mug down on the little table that was provided for each log. 

“I don’t know… I like theirs better.” Winry decided, drinking about half of her cider. “Well, at least it warms you up.” She smiled at him, and leaned on his shoulder. “When do you think they’ll announce the time to—”

“No  _ way _ !” A foreign voice interrupted their conversation. “Is that  _ you  _ Rockbell? It is!” Someone slid onto the log that she and Ed were occupying, and Winry was greeted by wide brown eyes and a brilliant smile. “Hi! It’s me, James, you might not remember me, but I was your classmate in school, oh, that you Elric? I haven’t seen you in ages either! How have you both been doing?”

“We’ve been doing well for ourselves, thanks.” Winry smiled. 

“That’s good, you know, ever since you three— speaking of which, where’s Al, did he move to Central or something? But like I was saying— ever since you three left school, we’ve practically lost all contact with you all! Hey, our class was gonna have a bonfire to ourselves, you wanna join?” Winry snuck a glance at Ed, while she was probably more amiable to chatting with old schoolmates, she knew Ed might be more uncomfortable with it. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Eh, sure, why not?” Winry raised an eyebrow. Ed wasn’t… He was never  _ comfortable  _ in the presence of other people his age. He was better with adults really, and she didn’t blame him. But if this was what he wanted… 

They got up and followed James back to where he had come from. As they approached the flickering bonfire, they heard a loud cheer go up, and James was quickly roped into the group, everyone hollering and playfully punching him. Winry took a seat on a log that was slightly more isolated than the rest, and Ed was quick to follow. 

“Okay… Maybe I take it back.” He said lowly into her ear. 

“Too late now, we just have to endure it until it’s time for Maypole dancing, then we can leave.”

“ _ Ugh. _ ”

“Look who I found everyone! It’s Ed and Winry!” James announced, and that led to a cacophony of people talking all at once. 

“Wow, you guys have changed a lot!” Someone said to her right. Winry glanced at who it was, a redheaded girl with pretty blue eyes, her name was  _ right  _ on the tip of her tongue…

“You’re Alice, right? Daughter of Mrs. De Clercq?” Winry asked, recalling the similar faces of mother and daughter. 

“Mhm! Is that one of mom’s dirndl?” She asked. Winry nodded. “I knew it! So, how’s life been for you two?” Winry could tell Ed was struggling to not say:  _ You mean  _ **_without_ ** _ the various internal coup d’etats and murderous homunculi or with them?  _ She smiled and squeezed his hand, and she stomped his foot for good measure, to make sure he didn’t say a peep. 

“Oh, we’ve been well, Ed and Al got bit by the travel bug though, so that’s why they haven’t been around much.”

“Ow! Win—” Ed stopped himself and fiddled with his braid. “Yeah, Al and I have been traveling a lot. Stayed in Central for a little while.”

“Ooh! Did you meet the Fullmetal Alchemist?” Alice asked. Winry stomped on Ed’s foot again, to which he whispered in her ear:

“ _ I wasn’t going to say anything! _ ” Yeah, s _ ure he wasn’t.  _ Winry kept smiling. 

“I think Ed and Al ran into him, from what I heard he’s pretty cool.” 

“You heard that he retired from the military recently right? I wonder why he did that.”

“Maybe he was getting too old?” Winry cheekily suggested. And was quickly rewarded with a stamp on her own foot. Glaring balefully at Ed, she scooted away from him. Ed rolled his eyes, and simply scooted closer to join her.

“Anyways, I think he just wanted out. Media circus must get pretty bad up in Central.” Ed stated. 

“Those are such  _ boring  _ answers.” James shouted from his side of the bonfire, Winry hadn’t realized it before, but everyone had gone silent when she and Ed had started to speak up. “I bet it was some sort of  _ scandal. _ ” He grinned. Ed rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

The conversations continued in this way, but generally flowed back to Ed and Winry, centering on their lives after disappearing from Resembool’s public eye. Eventually, the night turned old, and it was finally time for the real festival to begin. Bells rang out from the direction the Post Office was in, and every dug into their pockets, searching for the items they had brought to toss into the fire. 

Winry pulled out a small strip of wood from her dirndl pocket, and a small tin figurine. She didn’t see what Ed had pulled out, but she was sure that he had two times the things she did, since he had also carried Al’s items with him as well. They all waited until everyone had their things out, then tossed them into the flickering flames. 

Winry heard some popping, some hissing, and some crackling, which was cue for her to stand up and kick the log she had been sitting on into the fire. Luckily, Ed had had the same idea (probably borne from years of having been under Führer Mustang’s command, after all, if you weren’t going to learn what sounds signalled what behaviors in fire under his command, then you were never going to learn,  _ period _ ) and had stood up at relatively the same time as her, joining her in kicking the log into the flames, whereupon it produced a lovely fragrance. 

“So... Maypole time?” Ed asked awkwardly. 

“One dance, then we go home.”

* * *

Winry leaned on Ed as they walked back to the house. She was tired out from the dancing, and she knew that eventually he would have to just carry her back home, but she wanted to prolong that from happening for as long as possible. 

Ed, after all, wasn’t used to carrying other people, and she was afraid that adding her weight onto his might stress the steel in his automail. No matter how much Ed or Al boasted that she was the best in the business, she couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times she had messed up.

_ That screw, for instance.  _

So she would struggle to stay upright and conscious for as long as she could. She leaned further onto Ed, her head drooping onto his shoulder, where she could breathe in the wood smoke that clung to him, she could smell— 

“You burned alder?” Ed blushed. 

“I cut a branch from the tree that grows out back of the house. I… I saw you doing it for yours, so I—”

“You’re really such a sap Ed.”

“Ugh, I’m  _ not. _ ” He denied. “Anyways, you don’t have to force yourself to stay on your feet you know, the house is still a good 10 minutes away.”

“I don’t want to force you to have to carry me.”

“It wouldn’t be forcing me. We’re dating.” It slipped so casually out of his mouth that it made Winry stare. He was right, of course, but she had never really thought of them as  _ dating.  _ They just  _ were _ , it didn’t need any labels. She suddenly stumbled over a root as they continued walking, and she winced in pain, but didn’t cry out. She noticed Ed’s golden eyes narrow though, and was prepared when he lifted her up, bridal style. 

“You don’t have to, I’m not hurt or anything.”

“It’s fine Winry.” She didn’t respond after that, and let him carry her home.

* * *

_ August 7th, 1919 _

* * *

The best part of the entire day so far, Al decided, was getting to boat down the Qīxīnghǎi Lake with May. She was relaxed, occasionally leaning over the sides of the boat to look at the clear lake water as he paddled. Yes, his muscle cells were probably currently dying a slow death of acidification from the increased hydrogen atoms being circulated around his body, but he could endure the soreness for the nice boating trip. 

“If it weren’t for the canopy, I’m sure we could see the stars.” May sighed. “Ah,” She paused, seeing the slight confusion on his face as it faded into comprehension. Even after several months being taught Xingese and being immersed in the language every day, Al was still a little behind on some of the vocabulary. She pointed up at the red roof, and repeated the word. “Canopy.” 

“I get it now. Though, I could infer from the context clues.” She smiled at him— May had a  _ very  _ pretty smile, Al had noticed in the past few months— and motioned for him to bring the paddles back in. 

“You can let us drift now, and scoot over here, I’m sure your muscles must be crying out in pain now.”

“How observant.” Al chuckled, but did as she requested. He shrugged off the outer layer of robes easily, and as he sat beside her, May took out a brush, a small glass, and a pot of powdered ink. Al watched intently as she tapped out a little of the ink into the empty glass, then wrapped up the larger container and stowed it away in her robes. She then reached over with the smaller glass and got a little water in it. She took her brush and mixed it well, pulling it out and starting to draw her array on Al’s exposed skin. 

“You’re paying attention, right?”

“Yes, Chang Shīfù.” Al said. “Would you like me to describe the array and its effects?”

“Yes.” May could get a little blunt when she was teaching, but Al didn’t mind. Teacher had been  _ way  _ worse with that sort of thing anyways, so her bluntness barely even registered. Al looked at the array as she drew it, waiting for her to finish before he started commenting. The  _ last  _ (and only) time he had tried to talk about an array before it was finished, May had “rewarded” him with a kick aimed at his head. 

“The effect is a muscle relaxant.” Al stated, “That comes from...” He stared at the array, the names for them in Xingese momentarily slipping from his grasp. “Umn… Water being in the  _ yin  _ sphere of the array helps with the movement of blood, and overcomes the excess of fire generated by stress. Metal being in  _ yang  _ is because metal generates an interaction water, and also because yang metal stands for strength, which will improve and strengthen the muscle cells when healing.” 

He squinted at the array. “The sun at the top of the array and the river dragon at the bottom channel the energy of the Dragon’s Pulse and the lake into the body, represented by the word for man _. _ ” May nodded, then activated the array. Al felt a tingly numbness travel up his arm before it faded away, taking the pain with it. There was still a little bit of pain, but not as much as before, and Al suspected that there was still pain there because May hadn’t wanted to over do it. Unlike healing alchemy, alkahestry was a bit more... well,  _ holistic _ , and primarily relied on the alkahestrist’s ability to read qi, qi fields, and to decide when enough was enough.

If he was being honest with himself, that last part tended to make him a little nervous, after all, every person was different, how could you just  _ tell  _ when “enough was enough”? According to May, he’d eventually get a feel for it, but Al was still a bit doubtful. 

But the day wasn’t meant for him to dwell on his alkahestry apprenticeship, it was for relaxing with May (and pretending that Lan Fan and Ling weren’t watching them from some nearby spot). 

“Umn… May, I read about Qīxì jié.” Al said, switching to Amestrian to get a little privacy from all the other boats around them. 

“Yes?” May asked, clearly wondering where he was going with this. 

“Well, I read that people often float paper boats on the lake with candles and notes inside them as a prayer.” He reached into his inner robe and pulled out two paper boats, and offered one to May. “I was thinking that we could also participate.” She smiled at him, and took a boat. 

“It’s a good thing I brought extra paper.” She laughed, then reached into her own robes and pulled out a few strips of paper. Handing one over to him, she wrote something on hers, then handed over the ink and brush to him. Al thought for a moment before writing his own message:

_ I want these little moments to last forever.  _

By that, he didn’t just mean the moments between him and May (even though they certainly  _ were  _ included), but the other moments between him and the important people in his life. Moments of finding Ed fast asleep, face pressed up against an open alchemy book, moments when Winry and Paninya would pore over automail designs and sketches, charcoal and oil smudges on their skin. The times when Lan Fan would blush lightly whenever she had been discovered during Al’s alkahestry practice, Teacher’s small smiles that she always tried to hide, the small everyday things Mustang and his team did to avoid being bored during their workday. 

Things like that were precious to him, and he wanted them to last a lifetime if they could.

* * *

_ October 10th, 1919 _

* * *

Winry finished up with her last patient of the day. “Now, go fill this prescription out with your normal care provider.” She stated, handing the young woman a paper with Winry’s report written up on it. “Paninya, can you show Private Alsedo where the gauze is at? I was scheduled to receive a call at 6:45 that I can’t be late for!”

The Rush Valley native quickly stopped her clean up in the back to fulfill Winry’s order. Poking her head in the back, Winry saw that there wasn’t a lot left for Paninya to clean up, and headed back to the counter. “When you’re done helping out Ms. Alsedo, you can lock up Paninya. Your salary for the week is under the checkbook in my office, the one with the red cover. Call me if anything’s wrong with your pay, and I’ll get it all sorted out for you.” She smiled winningly at the two, and grabbed her bags before walking out. 

As she closed the door, she could hear the young woman ask if Paninya and Winry were the only two employees of the store, and Winry held back her response to hear how Paninya dealt with it. Over the past few months, Winry had been training Paninya to not respond so belligerently to customers who may have just been curious, Central City wasn’t Rush Valley after all.

In Rush Valley, a question like that would have indicated that the person in question didn’t think that Paninya or Winry were qualified enough to run a clinic on their own. Of course, while Winry might defer and say that she might not be, Paninya, being raised in Rush Valley would immediately refute and deny the accusation. 

Hence, the training. 

“Yes ma’am, we are the only two employees.” She heard Paninya say as Winry closed the door. Her tone was level and calm, and even though her smile was a little fixed, it eased into a genuine one as the woman expressed excitement and interest over, assuredly, the fact that the two of them were so proficient in automail despite their age. 

Winry checked the items in her bag again, and then headed down to her meeting place.

* * *

As Winry walked back home after her meeting, she smiled as she passed the construction of a new school in the district where she and Ed were currently residing. If she recalled correctly, this was the new “integrated” school of alchemy for Ishvalans and Amestrians that the new mayor had promised to build during her election campaign. 

Wandering a little closer to the site, she could see that the architecture was a combination of Ishvalan and Amestrian, what with the smoother, almost Bezier-like curves she recognized from pictures taken of the intact Ishvalan Houses of Worship during the still-ongoing rebuilding campaign and the (from what she could see of the back) unfinished pool/garden, but the extremely tall double windows and the presence of extremely decorated gables were all Amestrian standard.  _ Someone  _ had certainly taken a few of the principles of  _ The Lamps  _ to heart when constructing the school.

Inspiration filled her, and Winry stopped by a craft store as she walked home. Taking off her hat and unwinding her scarf a bit as she walked inside the warm store, she glanced up as the young man at the counter greeted her with a smile. 

“Can I help you miss?”

“Yes, I was looking for a few books, if you have them.  _ Isvhal in Color, Aufstand,  _ and  _ Principals of Automechanics and Drafts _ ?” 

“I’ll see if we have that last one in the back, I know for sure that we have copies of the first two,  _ Color  _ and  _ Aufstand  _ are both in the Photography section.” Winry thanked him and wandered over, seeing that  _ Color  _ was stacked up in the front as a display piece. Picking it up, she wandered through the aisle, trying to figure out where  _ Aufstand  _ was. She finally picked it out after a few minutes of looking, the familiar stark black and white cover soon reared its head. After checking the prices, she walked over back to the counter, where the young man (Winry took a discreet glance at the name tag, his name was Itri, apparently.) had his hand over the cover of a glossy black book that Winry knew without even looking at it for longer than a few seconds was  _ Principals of Automechanics and Drafts.  _

“Do you run the store by yourself?” Winry asked as he rang her up. 

“No, I’m just an employee.” He laughed. “Normally there’s someone with me on the night shift, but she came down with a nasty cold.”

“I see.” Winry hummed, taking her bag. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too miss!” He called after her. Winry looked back and gave him a wave as she turned to walk away. 

It was heartwarming, she thought. How far Amestris had come in such little time. As she walked back to her apartment, she remembered where she had heard the word  _ itri  _ before.

“ _ Major Miles, what does this word mean? _ ”

_ “Itri? It means star in Ishvalan.” _

* * *

_ December 13th, 1919 _

* * *

“Hi Winry!” Al greeted as he stepped off the train. He barely managed to get even that out, as she quickly entrapped him in a hug as soon as he set both feet onto solid ground. “Oh-!”

“I'm glad you’re back.” She whispered, and Al let out a well-meaning sigh, deciding that he could let Winry squeeze the life out of him for another few minutes before he'd try and wiggle out of it. 

“I’m glad I’m back too. Xing was great and all, but I missed Amestris a lot while I was there.” He said as Winry separated from him. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” She suggested as she picked up one of his bags. “It looks like you brought souvenirs. Oh, and how did everyone like their gifts?” They walked out of the station, and onto a well-worn path into the center of town. Since normally they’d take the back route, Al figured that there was probably something she wanted to show him, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure it out.

“They all appreciated them a lot. Especially Ling, I think Lan Fan had to drag him away from playing with the tin several times. He liked it better than having to listen to the Imperial Court, that’s for sure!” He chuckled, though Winry made a face.

“Shouldn’t he listen to his court? I mean, it’s like how Parliament used to be right? Advisors to the ruler?”

“Not quite. You see, the Imperial Court is made up of the current heads of the 50 clans, and while Ling  _ is  _ the emperor, his position is still a little tenuous, even now, and they’re all still scheming for ways to take him out. Though I think he’s just going to have to live with that as his new normal, since I’m fairly sure that’s what  _ every  _ emperor has had to do, regardless of age.”

“I see… So they’re more invested in their own personal gain rather than the people. That’s why Ling doesn’t listen to them.” Al nodded emphatically at her answer. 

“Well, that and because a lot of the heads are very… well, they’re traditional. So they don’t like a lot of the reforms Ling’s trying to push through. And they certainly didn’t like the fact that I would occasionally advise Ling on things...” Winry smiled wryly.

“Politics, what a headache.”

“You can say that again!” Al sighed. “I really like Xing, I really do, but you wouldn’t  _ believe  _ how far some people could twist the meaning of some words so that they could feign offense! And the way some people could treat the serving staff, ugh, I thought I was in the middle of some trashy 50-cenz novel!” She giggled. 

“Lots of ‘How dare you’s and ‘You shouldn’t look upon your betters!’ I’m guessing?”

“Yes, a lot! But, like I said, it wasn’t all bad. I had a chance to visit Yùtù Palace, it’s really beautiful, even if I was a bit distracted due to my studies… And I even made some headway into curing chimeraism, though I’ll have to confer with Brother before I can say anything definitive.”

“That’s great Al, I’m glad to hear it.” 

“What about you Winry? How have things been since I left?”

“Well, it’s certainly been a bit more lonely… Though Ed and I are getting a bit closer nowadays.” Al privately wondered what exactly  _ that  _ entailed, but didn’t ask. “Business is going well too, though I’m thinking of leaving the shop in Central to Paninya for a little while.”

“So you’re planning on moving to Central full time at some point?”

“Maybe?” She shrugged. “It’s certainly a possibility, though nothing’s set in stone just yet. Maybe when we’re all a little bit older? In any case, nothing’s really changed over here with Ed and me. Oh, that’s right! I’m not sure if you heard the news yet, but the Gen—er— I mean, Mustang made Führer!”

“I heard, Ling sent a letter of congratulations over once the news arrived. I heard it was a bit of a close thing though.”

“Oh yes, it was. Before I go on though, Al, mind if we duck through here for a bit?” She pointed to a small thicket of trees that had seemingly popped up in the year Al had been gone. 

“No, I don’t mind.” He smiled. “You were saying though?” He asked as they weaved between the trees. 

“Well, it’s been said that a lot of the Generals were supporting other candidates, and some people weren’t really happy about Mustang’s view on Ishval. It really turned out to be a  _ very  _ close race. Though I’m glad it all worked out.”

“I don’t think Grumman really had a choice though. It was Mustang or no one, I’m sure.” He argued. “Remember when Major General, or is it General now, Armstrong and Mustang cornered him into giving them their promotions?”

“Right...” Winry murmured. “But still… In any case though, Mustang is Führer now, so we don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff! Oh, and he’s already said that he’s going to be opening talks with Xing soon!” As they exited the thicket, Al realized where Winry had dragged him to. 

It was a small spring, just outside of the main part of town, and many people often stopped by to pay respects and wish for good things. It partly stemmed from old practices in the region from before it was annexed to Amestris, and partly from old superstitions passed through the ages.

“Winry...”

“What it could it hurt Al?” She urged him on, setting down his bag and fishing out a 10 cenz coin from her pocket. “You remember the legend right? 10 cenz or—”

“—or a cup of wine. Well, I’m sorry but May didn’t exactly load me with alcohol before I left, so the money will have to do.”

“You could also offer a sword if you had one on you.”

“I think May, Lan Fan  _ and  _ Ling would skin me alive if I dropped a blade in water like that.” He said dryly. “Besides, the stories say that if I offered a sword, I’d  _ also  _ forfeit my life.” Winry hummed as to acknowledge him, and fished out another coin from her pocket. 

“Here you go. You still remember how to do this right? Not too much alkahestry knowledge in there for old traditions?” She teased.

“I remember, I remember.” He smiled at her, then in unison, they both dropped their coins into the water, put their hands together and made their wishes. 

“Dear Saint Sophia, I hope for a harmonious home.” Winry whispered. Al waited for the last of her words to die away before he said his own wish.

“Dear Saint Sophia… I hope for good luck in...” he thought for a second. What  _ did  _ he want good luck in? His research? His alkahestry studies? A vision of May flashed before his eyes, and before he knew it he had blurted out: “ _ May! _ ” like a love struck idiot.

Silence reigned over the clearing. Winry was staring at him, he knew, and he must’ve been blushing like a tomato. 

“Something you want to share with the class Al?” She prodded, sidling closer to him. “Is there a certain  _ someone  _ for our  _ dear  _ Alphonse?” Al let out a strangled cry into his own hands.

“Please don’t tell Brother, he’ll tease me for  _ ages _ .”

“I won’t. As long as you treat me for ice cream.” She snickered, picking up his bag and walking out the clearing. Al followed obediently, remembering the times when Winry used to extort both him  _ and  _ Ed out of some treat in exchange for not telling their secrets.

They were good memories. Memories Al wanted to make more of, he thought as they started on the path that would lead them to the Rockbell house.

* * *

_ December 30th, 1919 _

* * *

Ed had never been so nervous in his entire life as he was now. He felt the sharp corners of the box poking him in the leg as he tapped his leg in preparation for the train to come.

“You’re so nervous, what, is this going to be a repeat of when you stopped those terrorists back in 1914?” Winry teased. 

“No—! I… There’s just something important that I have to make sure I get right.”

“Alright, if you say so.” Winry chuckled, bringing her jacket slightly closer together as they waited.

“...You’ll be fine with Al right?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine Ed! You don’t need to worry me. Besides, this way he can see how much Resembool’s changed before he leaves come next December. And we were overdue on some time spent together anyways.”

“Yeah, but what about your shop in Central?”

“I’ve left it to Paninya for now, she’s become pretty good at managing the shop when I’m away anyways, and it was about time to give her a promotion.”

“Never would’ve pegged her for being so dependable...” Ed muttered, to which Winry punched him in the shoulder. 

“Jeez, Ed! It’s a good thing she isn’t here right now, or she’d kick your ass!” She huffed and sat back on the bench. “Anyways, you can stop worrying. Everything’ll be  _ fine _ . Besides, where was this worry when we were younger?”

“It was there! We just… Didn’t show it very often.” He huffed, the box again poking him as his leg bounced up and down. 

“Now, you can’t forget to oil and wipe down your automail okay? And call me if it gets broken, so we can set a date.”

“Eh, I’ll just stop by.”

“Edward Elric if you don’t set a date, I will smack you in the head with a wrench.”

“So violent.” Ed quipped. The sharp sound of a whistle cut through the air. “Ah, there’s the train!” He leapt to his feet, and grinned. “I can’t  _ wait  _ to see what kind of stuff is out West!”

“Knowing you, all that excitement will just lead to more broken automail.”

“And? That just means more money for you. Or Paninya depending on who I stop by to get it fixed.”

“Are you forgetting who  _ owns  _ all of the Rockbell Automail brand Ed?”

“Nah, just weighing my options on if I want to be clocked with a wrench or not.” He started walking towards the train, hoping he seemed nonchalant. He turned around, and swung his suitcase to-and-fro in a nervous motion. “But speaking of setting dates... Winry— I… When it comes to dates and… stuff… I—”

“What is it? Spit it out.”

“Equivalent exchange.”  _ When we were young, we believed it to be the world’s one and only Truth. Let’s hope all that believing paid off even a little.  _ “I give you half my life, and you give me half of yours!” He got down on a knee, just like how he had witnessed a certain  _ other _ someone propose, and withdrew the box from his pocket, unveiling the thin gold band. 

Winry was staring at him, eyes wide, hands in front of her mouth. Ed was certain that his own face was a crimson red. 

_ Dammit, did I remember it wrong _ — _ Wait no, was that just a joke proposal? Dammit Mustang I’m gonna deck you when I see your bastard face next _ — __

“Why are you alchemists like this?!” She groaned, pressing her face into the side of the train. “Equivalent exchange… How stupid can you be Ed!?” She sighed, and stared down at him, trying to hide her blush with her hand. Not that it helped, he could see red up to the tips of her ears. “Forget half. We’ll give each other everything we have to give.” She knelt down and smiled at him, plucking the “ring” out of it’s bed. “You didn’t pick this out, did you?” She laughed.

“I did.” Ed muttered, slightly offended.

“Then I’m sure you had help.” She said, putting the earring in. “Do you have a matching one, or do I have to buy one for you and send it over to where you’re staying at?”

“I don’t have one yet— I don’t even have my ears pierced!” Winry stared at him again. 

“Ed, you can be  _ so  _ stupid at times. How did you and Al come up with a theory that’ll turn alchemy on its head when you act like  _ this?  _ I guess I’ll send you one you’ll like soon enough. That or maybe I’ll get  _ you  _ a ring. No one said that we  _ have  _ to get matching accessories after all.” She helped him up, then hugged him tight. “Come back soon, okay? As glad as I am to have Paninya running the shop in Central, it’s still my baby and I want to be head manager of it again.”

“What happened to staying in Resembool forever?” He asked, teasing her about the old wish she had made when they were kids. 

“Well, wishes change Ed. You know that.” 

He thought back on the last 4 or so years. Well, she wasn’t  _ wrong.  _

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll see you soon Winry.” He broke the hug, and stepped onto the train as its whistle went off again. Stowing his luggage, Ed sat down, and looked out of the window to where Winry was standing on the platform, waving at him. 

His heart hammered away at his chest, as he fought the urge to open the window and shout out that he’d be back soon. Fidgeting in his seat, he took out his well-worn “travelogue” that, at this point, was more like a journal than a travelogue considering the tiny amount of time he dedicated to traveling nowadays, and started writing (in code of course. Old habits were hard to break).

_ December 30th, 1919. _

_ My first day on my journey west. I proposed to Winry today _ —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do it, there wasn't any way I could write this fic the way I had and _not_ have written the "Ed proposes to Winry" scene, it couldn't be done. In any case that means that we're almost upon the finale of this story. I'll leave you with the translations and see you in the next and final chapter.
> 
> Translations:  
> Amestrian-German:  
> 
> 
> Einkaufsstraße - Literally "Shopping Street", but is more accurately translated as Main Street/High Street.   
> Mordstreich - Lit. Murder Strike  
>    
> Auf Wiedersehen für jetzt - Goodbye for now  
>    
> Geh nach Westen, junger Mann - Go West, Young Man  
>    
> Aufstand - Uprising  
> 
> 
>   
> Xerxian-Latin/Greek:  
>    
> Analytís - Analyst (Greek)  
>    
> Telikí Apochí - Final Abstinence (Greek)  
>    
> Arche - Beginning/origin/source of action (Greek)  
> 
> 
> Xingese-Mandarin:   
> Qīxīnghǎi - Seven Star   
>    
> Shīfù - Master  
>    
> Yùtù - Jade Rabbit/Moon  
> 


	12. 1920 - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the final chapter! Thanks to my betas for pushing me this far, as well as to my artist, cazz, for doing so many wonderful pieces! If you haven't seen them yet, check them out at either their Twitter or Tumblr (@cazzarts). Finally, I want to extend an additional thank you for all my wonderful readers, it always brings a smile to my face whenever I see the hit or kudos counters grow. Seriously, thank you all for accompanying me on this journey.
> 
> Now, onto the finale.

Winry laughed as she walked with May, the shorter girl retelling a story about the Elders in the court trying to put Al on trial for “subverting the Imperial Court” and how she and Lan Fan had to help him break out of jail.

“That sounds hilarious!” Winry had to smother a snort since she was laughing so hard. “What did Ling even have to say after all that?”

“Just that no one should have tried to imprison the son of the Great Sage of the West.” May grinned. “He spun this whole story about how  _ actually  _ Al was trying to keep his identity a secret to blend in with the normal population, but  _ oh no _ , being arrested forced him to unleash his true power or something like that. Sometimes it pays to have a kid from the Yao clan be on your side.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, I know Al said that it was true in one of his letters, but—”

“—Did Ling actually popularize the story about how he was fed a boot by the Fullmetal Alchemist? Yes. It’s actually a bestseller now, so all of Xing knows the legend practically.” 

“Well, at least Ed will be attacking Ling based on a  _ true  _ event rather than some perceived slight.” Winry sighed. “Oh, and Al mentioned that Xing has a lot of different produce than Amestris, did you two bring some over?”

“We did. Honestly I didn’t believe Alphonse when he said that you didn’t have oranges or bananas. But now I see he was telling the truth. Your market stalls were bare of the fruit, though there were some that I was familiar with and some that were foreign to me.”

“Right, like raspberries and pears!” May nodded. 

“And the small one, the one that looks like a berry but isn’t.”

“Oh, you’re talking about the juniper berries. Well, honestly, the fact that they aren’t actually berries is news to me.” May stared at her uncomprehendingly for a second, then some understanding seemed to dawn on her. 

“Right, I had forgotten that in Amestris you don’t commonly read the Dragon’s Pulse.”

“Yep! Despite being known for our alchemists, a lot of people in Amestris really don’t know anything about alchemy, and I include myself in that number.”

“Even though you are married...”

“Even though I’m married to the Fullmetal Alchemist, Ed knows I can’t get my head around alchemy, and he doesn’t even attempt to nowadays. It’s not like I don’t have things he doesn’t get either, like automail. Don’t get me  _ started  _ on how little Ed understands automail.”

“That sounds a lot like Alphonse and knives, really. ‘As long as it cuts’,” She mocked. “You’d have thought he was raised in a barn!”

“Oh? Well, I wouldn’t know much—”

“Which is understandable, because you weren’t born in Xing, and you never received any education in them, but Alphonse has. From  _ me. _ ”

“To be fair, for a very long time ‘as long as it cuts’ has been enough to save him from some pretty sticky situations, so...” Winry chuckled as May sighed. 

“I know, I know… It’s just...” May made a slight gesture with her hand that Winry couldn’t quite make out the meaning of. “Back during the Promised Day, I saw Alphonse as—” She blushed darkly. “Well, I saw him as someone who could really do no wrong, a little how I viewed Ed before I truly met him.”

“The real thing not living up to your vision?”

“What? No… He really is a perfect gentleman, and he is very good at alkahestry, but sometimes… Sometimes I forget that he wasn’t raised or born in Xing—” At Winry’s incredulous look, May took a defensive tone to her voice. “It  _ happens _ , Al more or less speaks Xingese like a native now! But… Like I was saying, sometimes I forget, and I do things that make him uncomfortable, and—” She frowned. “It just feels like there’s a gap between us.”

“Well, this probably isn’t  _ great  _ advice… But, well, it’s worked for me and Ed, so it can’t be all that bad. When it comes to your differences, sure, there are some things that you just can’t understand about each other, that’s normal. But that just means that there are more things that you haven’t explored yet that you might have a lot in common with. Take carving, when Ed picked it up after his trip in Ishval to help with reconstruction, I realized that I had a bit of a knack for it too.”

“So like sparring!” 

“If that’s what you two share, then sure.” Winry smiled. “Now come on, you both only have a few days left in Amestris, we have to introduce you to all the Elric Brother specialties before you leave again. Oh! And Central, we haven’t shown you around Central or East City yet! That’s going to be on the to-do list.” As they reached the house, Winry let May in first, even as the shorter woman insisted on at least helping her out with the groceries, though Winry brushed off her attempts.

“Ed! Al! We just got back from market!” There was silence. Odd… The Elric Brothers were never that quiet. “May, do you see them?”

“I sense Al’s qi from the living room. Someone, I’m assuming that’s Ed, is with him.” Winry frowned. 

“Ugh, I bet they’re just way too deep into working on their theory of Inequivalent Exchange.” She rolled her eyes, and closed the door with her foot. As the two women walked to the kitchen to deposit the groceries, they passed the couch the two brothers were sitting on. Or rather, Al was sitting, pouring over a book while a box of more books lay open at the side of the couch. Ed was standing, half hanging over the couch to point at things in the book and poke Al in the cheek. 

Winry cleared her throat. 

“Any help?” She arched her eyebrow as Ed startled. 

“Oh, shit! Sorry Win, Al and I just got a bit caught up in looking over these old journals of ours. Oh, we even found the picture of Al’s first day out of the ICU!” He leaned over and picked up the photo, then showed it to her and May. 

“Thank goodness I could get rid of that wheelchair quickly.” Al laughed. 

“You hated that thing, never wanted to be wheeled around.”

“I had just gotten my body back Brother, it’s not that much a wonder that I’d like to  _ use  _ my limbs.”

“Being in Xing has corrupted you, the Al I know would never be so dry.” Ed huffed, reaching over to ruffle Al’s hair, to which Al easily flipped him over the couch, causing Ed to slide over and hit the floor. “ _ Ugh,  _ where did you even learn that move? Teacher never taught us that!”

“Lan Fan.”

“How did you  _ survive. _ ” As they talked, Winry set down the groceries on the kitchen table. 

“If you two are done, I was going to make some stew, since it’s an Elric specialty dish at this point, and because May’s never had it before.”

“You never made stew for May Al? For shame.” Ed scolded playfully. 

“With  _ what  _ ingredients Brother? And with what  _ free time? _ ” Al shot back. 

“Oh don’t give me that, you had enough time to gush about what ever activity you were doing with  _ May~ _ ” Their conversation quickly devolved into a play fight from there, and Winry rolled her eyes. Stepping out from the kitchen, she picked up the camera from where she kept it on the counter, and snapped a picture of them. 

The sound made the brothers stop fighting, and Winry waited for two shocks of golden hair to pop-up from behind the couch. 

“I would say that’s worthy of the pin board, but it’s really not.” Ed remarked. “Come over here Winry, eh, you too May.”

“Ignore Brother, you’re perfectly welcome in the photo May.” Al smiled. Winry walked over to Ed’s side, and wrapped his arm around her, and held the camera out. Waiting for May to get close to Al, she smiled brightly, and started an internal countdown in her mind.

_ 3...2...1 _ — __

She took the photo.

(When it developed, it was clean, and it immediately went up onto the pin board. They were all grinning their heads off, just happy to be in each other’s company. She placed it in the center position, just slightly obscuring the one of Ed returning from his trip.)

* * *

When everything was done, Winry found herself washing up with May. At first, she had tried telling the Xingese woman that she could handle it by herself, but May insisted. 

“ _ I ate off of those plates, and so I will wash them. _ ”

They washed them in relative silence, only speaking up when some inane thought crossed their minds. 

“...Thank you.” May said out of the blue.

“Hm? For what?”

“For being so hospitable… I know I didn’t exactly make the best impression on you the first time we met.”

“Really, it’s fine May. You’re a great person, and I’d be a lot less if I had treated you any differently to how I have today. Besides, you’re practically family now, what with Al and all.” May blushed a dark red, and Winry had to stifle a squeal. Those two really were too cute together. 

“Still, thank you.” May hesitated for a second, then put down her soapy plate. “A lot of Elders in the Imperial Court don’t like the idea of Xing being so open with Amestris, especially after when they found out about the general events of the Promised Day.”

“Well, bureaucracy seems to never change then.” Winry laughed, but quieted down when she saw May’s somber expression. “Something wrong?”

“...I don’t understand sometimes, how they can act the way they do. Amestris isn’t a backwards nation, and its people are— well, they’re  _ people _ , but the Elders just… they don’t seem to understand that. A lot of them oppose my tutoring of Al, let alone my relationship with him.”

“What about Ling and Lan Fan?”

“They’re fine with it, but there’s only so many times an Emperor can defy his court before they start making noises about losing the Mandate of Heaven.”

“I see.” May leaned on the counter, her dark eyes glittering in the dim light. 

“Do you think that’ll ever change? Will I have to move here just to be together with Al?” Winry thought back on the events in Amestris ever since the Promised Day, then ruffled May’s hair, which drew a squawk from the short woman.

“I think time can change a lot May. But until that day, we just have to keep looking towards the future.” May was looking out the window now, all thoughts of the plates abandoned. Winry glanced down at the paltry amount left in the sink, and tugged at May’s sleeve. “We can finish up in the morning, it’s getting late. But since we’re all alone down here, let me introduce you to a Rockbell tradition.” Winry moved away from the sink and searched in the cabinets. “Here we go.” She pulled down the bottles, and wiggled them in front of May. “Up for a cultural exchange?”

May snickered, and nodded. They headed out to the front and lounged on the chairs on the porch, Den scampering between them before finally settling down at Winry’s feet.

“Shall I drink the Amestrian beverage first?” May asked, holding out her cup.

“I think we should try the other’s home drink at the same time.” May nodded, and poured Winry a cup of her  _ Suanmeitang _ . Winry poured out the juniper and tonic in May’s cup, then they both tasted their respective drinks.

_ Sweet _ , was the first thought that came to mind as the drink hit her tongue. She nursed it a little longer, was surprised by the sheer  _ sourness  _ of it. She coughed as she choked it down, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

May was in a similar situation, the taste of the juniper berries and the tonic water clearly not agreeing with her. They sat there, sputtering for a few minutes before bursting out into laughter and trading cups.

“I can’t believe you drink that!” Winry smiled, sipping at her juniper and tonic. “It’s nice when it’s sweet, but that  _ sourness! _ ”

“It’s really good in summertime.” May defended. “I can’t believe you can drink  _ that  _ at all! It’s so...woody, but also citrusy?”

“It goes well with lemon peel.” Winry said. “And it compliments certain dishes. It’s also much better as a tea or syrup. But  _ wow  _ what an experience.” She clinked her cup with May. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. We should finish up and go to bed soon.”

“What’s the rush?” Winry held up the bottles, both still full of sloshing liquid. “We have a lot left, and I want to hear more stories about Xing.” May sighed, though judging by the sheen in her eyes it wasn't out of exasperation.

“Alright, alright.” She conceded with a shy smile. Winry grinned as she poured.

* * *

Winry turned to wish her a goodnight before heading off to her and Ed’s shared room, but May beat her to speaking.

“...Thank you for the drinks. And, about what you said earlier… I hope we get to see, no,  _ make  _ that future. With our own hands.” Winry smiled softly back at May.

“I’m sure we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kept some really detailed notes on research and other such things for this fic, and they got so long that AO3 can't handle their length! (Silly AO3, I need more than just 5000 characters for my notes!) Anyways, I will be posting said notes on my tumblr (@writ-eissel) for anyone to read if they're curious:  
> [Notes for 1915](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/626821302729261056/1915notes)  
> [Notes for 1916 Pt.1](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/627361790426284032/glimpses-of-where-we-used-to-be-notes-1916-pt-1)  
> [Notes for 1916 Pt.2](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/627635206624608256/1916-pt-2-note-post)  
> [Notes for 1917](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/627815837455237120/1917notes)  
> [Notes for 1918](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/628066879759581184/1918-notes)  
> [Notes for 1919 + 1920](https://writ-eissel.tumblr.com/post/628072335929458688/191920notes)


End file.
